


Watermelon Snow

by pronker



Category: Penguins of Madagascar
Genre: Action/Adventure, Complete, Friendship, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-05-14 01:15:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 51
Words: 104,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5724001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pronker/pseuds/pronker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boys blow up things closer to the North Pole than the South Pole. Perfidy ensues when Danes enter the picture, but did we expect anything else?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Title: Watermelon Snow

Author: pronker

Rating: PG

Time: Before the TV episodes _Skipper Makes Perfect_ and _Kaboom and Kabust_.

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, Dreamworks does. And boy, do they do a good job with them. *mwah*

Summary: The boys blow up things closer to the North Pole than the South Pole. Perfidy ensues when Danes enter the picture, but did we expect anything else?

A/N: No offense meant to any Danes. I am a Jensen myself. First part only is all dialogue, others not.

IOIOIOIOIO

"I'm Chuck Charles here with late breaking news about our own adorable penguins from Central Park Zoo. The waddling wonders willingly went on a zoo exchange program all the way from the Big Apple up to the --- to the --- _what is this word?"_

"I'm Bonnie Chang here at the Central Park Zoo filling in for Chuck, who'll return in a moment. I'm standing right outside the habitat now housing our latest attraction and just look at this crowd of happy faces! Madam, what would you like to know about these newest arrivals?"

"How did they find so many white Pomeranians?"

"Ha ha ha! These are arctic foxes, one of the cutest animals from up north. Let's ask someone about them --- oh, Zookeeper Alice! Over here! Share your expertise with the folks at home and tell us what you know about these adorable newcomers."

"I'm on break."

"--- one of the weirdest words I've ever come across in my twelve years of --- am I on? Chuck Charles back with the latest and greatest news from Channel 1. If we say it happened, it did. If we say it's going to happen, it will. And what happened to our beloved penguins? They are delighting new kiddies for four weeks in the Åland Islands Zoo through the Arctic Antarctic Relaxation Program. Yes, folks, A.A.R.P. maintains that just like people, zoo animals need their horizons expanded to avoid boredom. Our popular penguin quartet quickly quelled questions of suffocating staleness when they performed prodigiously for new audiences of Swedes, excuse me, make that the Finns, in the Åland Islands Zoo. Viewers, you're reading the caption correctly and that capital A with the ring over it means that it's pronounced OH-LUND, did you ever hear of such a -- never mind."

"Zookeeper Alice, what was that? I didn't quite catch it. Bring in the Steadicam, quick! Hayden, pan it here and we'll get a visual of Zookeeper Alice's professional opinion on these fluffy, yipping little cutiepies."

"I _said_ let the penguins stay up there. These foxes are way less trouble. There hasn't been a weird thing happen since those birds flew the coop."

"Back to you in the studio, Chuck. I think we can promise that Operation Exchange is well underway."

"Bonnie, as long as it isn't Operation _Sex_ change I think we're golden, ha ha."

"Could you say we're sure if _they're_ sure, Chuck?"

"Ha. Ha. Tee Em Eye, Bonnie, Tee Em Eye."

"And that's a wrap."

"Sports up next with Scooter Alvarez. How about those Rangers, Scooter?"

IOIOIOIOIO

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

"Outstanding debut routine today, gentlemen. The kiddies cheered the three beak support column with spouting centerpiece action. I told you so." Skipper planted himself in front of their 52-inch television set. "I also told you we could expect top-notch treatment like this ginormous screen. I mean, were they afraid we'd get bored? Is it socialistic preventive therapy propaganda? Count me uncaring _and_ unindoctrinated." He clicked the remote. Lilting, waterfall-sounding music entered the secluded part of the habitat that doubled the size of the one in the Central Park Zoo,except for that one's fourteen hidden levels. Skipper clicked again, and a documentary about ice worms attracted his interest. 

Private rubbed his behind. "Have a care with those beaks next time, everyone."

"Intel from Imelda the polar bear says that this habitat housed two pair arctic foxes before us." Kowalski was winding up to something because he lacked a lab to take up excess mental energy. The others had been through it all with him before. Rico growled under his breath. 

Private sniffed each corner of the wide bunk he was to share with Skipper and gave a sunny smile. "Crackerjack job done on the cleanin' up, then." 

Kowalski continued, bursting to get information _out_. "Each pair raised a litter all in one bunk. Then the young ones grew up."

Skipper stared at Private bustling about, fluffing pillows, plopping their duffels on something that looked like a massage table four feet from the two bunks. "Yes. They do that."

"So I speculate that our zoo overlords hazarded that since _some_ species of penguins live in burrows, they could take us away from our beautiful HQ with its beautiful lab and shove us into communal living." Kowalski sneaked his options clipboard underneath the pillow of the spot nearest the latrine, then appeared to reconsider.

Rico grinned and Private hid a smile behind his left flipper. Kowalski looked embarrassed at his own sneer and wiped it off his face. "Um, even more communal than we do already." 

Skipper shrugged. "Meh. Bigger bunks. I could get used to this."

"Oh, don't be so Magellanic, Skipper. Thank Galileo it's only temporary." Kowalsi finished stowing his gear after slamming his options clipboard underneath the pillow of the spot farthest away from the latrine. "Let's go see what the humans are doing." He charged up the ramp leading to the surface from their large burrow. There wasn't any sort of cover to use as a door, but the zoo architects had curved the tunnel's entrance away from the prevailing cold wind from the nearby Gulf of Bothnia. It would have to do.

Skipper allowed this. "Very well." He stretched, rising from the concrete floor with his usual fluid grace. One thing this place didn't have was anything like seats.

Kowalski would have swallowed his teeth if he'd had any. "If it's all right with you," he blurted from the top of the ramp. "I lost my temper, I ---"

"Forget it. We needed a change. Let's roll." The slap of little penguin feet faded away.

The television blathered on unwatched, nattering about a mysterious unmarked lorry charging through the Öresund bridge-tunnel tollbooth between Sweden and her southern neighbor without paying fare or disclosing her cargo. The lorry reached the Swedish border all the way from Denmark and it thundered unstoppable into the night, heading northeast. Border officials promised action, possibly as soon as the vernal equinox. 

IOIOIOIOIO

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

IOIOIOIOIO

Åland Island Zoo's outdoors habitat for foxes and now penguins had a spare charm, Rico would give it that. And there was small chance that he couldn't come up with --- _**up** with_ , he snickered to himself --- anything they truly needed on this hiatus. Out in the late winter sunshine, the world looked sturdy and stoic, as if this island had weathered many a winter and would weather many more. At the same time, the mood of the zoo spoke of slight weariness, as if _come on already!_ was on all the animals' minds. Spring was right around the corner, as welcome a change of season as it proved to be each year.

Rico was content, but then he nearly always was. It took an overwhelming menace singling him out from his brothers or the threat of Skipper's prolonged absence to shake his foundation. Even **kaboom!** ing didn't rattle his soul like those two things did.

"Got to keep in shape, men. Drop and give me fifty." Nobody whined and Skipper, leading from the front as always, drilled them until they would have sweated if they weren't penguins. "Six laps, and we're done. Find a spot in the sun to lay out, away from each other."

"Good idea, Skipper. No need to get tired of each other _this_ soon." Kowalski seemed to have been watching psychological TV shows again. "Dr. Oz says that changes in residence are a challenge for relationships because you don't have the usual support system to defuse stress."

"K'walski, I'm thinkin' you mean Dr. Phil. He's not always right, you know. When have we ever gotten tired of each other?"

" _I'm_ already tired of this debate. Actions speak louder than words." Skipper performed a flawless open pike dive, Rico cannonballed, Private aced a closed pike, and Kowalski dove backwards with a half somersault. The crowd cheered and when the laps were done, all but a few people had moved along to the polar bear enclosure.

IOIOIOIOIO

"Hemskola, hemskola, nej nej nej ... " 

"Du vet att. And now let us practice the English, darling. We must not neglect the lesson because of our outing in this lovely weather, nej?"

"Mummy, I do not like homeschooling."

"Nonsense, Per. We are having outings and you play with your little comrades every other Thursday for one full hour."

Per kicked a stray pebble from the immaculate path. It landed near Skipper's lie out by the saltspray rose bush. He observed without seeming to as he waddled casually back and forth in front of the woman and the boy.

"We move to Åland because your father and I desired the homeschooling for you. We do not regret this. Do not make us regret, Per."

Bird or mammal, slumped shoulders signified defeat. The boy ran his knuckles back and forth across the smooth steel fencing that would repel a charging polar bear. Typical overkill on the security, thought Skipper, like we penguins are in danger up here in Peaceful Hippie Land. He paced in front of the boy as if he were just another specimen hoping for a tossed snack.

"Does this make us Finns now?"

"Never! We are not Finns. Our government in Sweden outlawed the homeschooling and we move to Åland for you, Per. Finnish government here allows the homeschooling."

Oh ho, spoon on the guilt like tartar sauce, lady, grumbled Skipper to himself. This was becoming a little too soap opera-ish for his taste and he eyed his lie out spot, which was now nicely in full sun.

"I want more, and I know that I should not, Mummy."

The woman was manipulative, just like Ma and her fainting spells. She opened her coat and snagged her son inside it, hugging him and tickling him until his bad mood fled. "You will see how much this way is better, my boy. You will not see now but when you are grown, you will be ready for the conquering of the outside world when you leave Åland for career. Oh, yes, you will see."

"My friends will conquer, too, Mummy?"

Skipper's mouth dropped open.

"Yes, yes. All the little homeschoolers will make the legion of informed road warriors in tune with the technology of tomorrow and the world view to conquer first Scandinavia and then, who knows? And it all starts here with my little boy and his little friends with dedicated homeschooling by their loving families. Soon the world will be yours. Come, Per. Du och jag nu." She waltzed him around once while he stood on top of her heavy boots, they both laughed merrily, and then she released him from her coat and led him away. Their footsteps receded. Skipper processed the unexpected intel and forgot about lying out in the sun.

IOIOIOIO

The right moment came just after the long winter twilight began. "Brace yourselves, gentlemen. I just found out Åland is Finnish and they allow something sinister to happen to innocent little children!"

"You don't mean --- " 

"I do. Homeschooling. " Skipper's blue eyes turned as stormy as an ocean churned up with towering waves that were very stormy. "It might be just my imagination" --- from where he stood he couldn't see the others' nods and eye-rolls --- "but I don't think so. Ålanders could be building an entire _army_ of Scandinavian scavengers, sackers, pillagers, and lutfisk eaters." He whipped around to face his team. "Sound familiar?" 

The three spoke at once. 

"Pastry chefs?"

"Vikings?"

"Legos?" 

"One vintage 1953 salted herring to you, Kowalski. Private, I'll just chalk up that response to your usual adorable innocence and Rico, Legos coming from" --- Skipper took a calming breath --- "Denmark is the exception that proves the rule that nothing good comes from Denmark."

" _Reptilicus_ was a good movie from Denmark, Skippa, remember?"

"I have spoken, Private, and no, it wasn't. There's something up with the humans around these here parts. I want to find out what."

Kowalski whipped out his tongue to demolish the last crumbs of the danish that a zoo patron had tossed him this morning. He began diplomatically, "Ah, Skipper, a legion of homeschooled Viking warriors isn't completely out of the ballpark, but you'll have to admit that it's unlikely. Hee hee. Skipper? Hee hee? Um, hee?" 

It was a measure of Skipper's leaderly patience that he did not blow up, at least on the outside. "How so?" 

Kowalski whipped out the options clipboard. "One: all of Scandinavia including Denmark is famed for its current peaceful condition. Two: the world has changed since the Vikings ravaged their neighbors."

"And three?"

"I don't have a three."

"These things always come in threes. Try harder."

Kowalski's frustrated nurturing instinct sometimes got the better of him and never so much as with his commander. "We'll keep an eye out for Scandinavian weirdness, right, boys?" Skipper turned away to make sure everyone was on the same paranoid wavelength or at least within tolerance, and Kowalski pointed both flippers at Skipper's back and nodded wildly. Private and Rico picked up the cues.

"Righto!"

"Aye!"

IOIOIOIOIO

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

"Cálmate, chica, tienes que relajar...you're so beautiful, me haces volverme loco. Sí, como ése, ése ... now! **_Madre de --- "_**

"Skippa, wake up." Private prodded and kicked until he received a response.

"Huh?"

"You were talkin' in your sleep. It must have been quite the lovely dream."

Åland's version of a habitat had no windows and only the dimmest light filtering from the stars and aurora entered through the curved opening. It must have been this soft anonymity that undid Skipper. "Dream? I guess. The memory is better, though. We were on Bouvet Island, the most remote island in the world. We swam through swells and crested crescendos of wicked waves until landfall on the sweetest little beach you'd ever want to see. Those ladies kept up with me, swimming I mean, and then some."

"Um, sounds romantic. You don't have to tell me any more." Private yawned.

"I did say they were the Chinstrap _Sisters_ , right? From Chile? It was paradise, just we four."

Private shot awake. "Four? But how? With three, yes, but --- "

"Never you mind. Someday I'll tell you in a special briefing. Go back to sleep, young Private. That's an order."

"But how will _you_ \--- "

"I'll deal with it."

"Can I help?"

"No."

Private was asleep again when Skipper rose to survey the northern lights cascading over the island he currently was on. The sight churned up more memories than he wanted to consider, and he didn't stay outdoors long.

IOIOIOIOIO

When no one was looking, Kowalski sang to himself in his HQ lab. Here on Åland was precious little privacy like that, but after exercise one morning a week from Skipper's homeschooling announcement, he found a warm lie out between the Calluna vulgaris and the Viscum album. The song lyrics came as easily to him as thinking about Doris. He cleared his throat and directed himself with both flippers as if he were a maestro. "Hummmm. Kaff. Kaff. Me me me me. Ahem. _Like a briiiidge over a cup of water, you can lay me down_ ... no, that's not it."

A cloud ghosted over the sun. He dropped his flippers and sighed as the Calluna vulgaris' bare branches stirred in a chilly breeze. "Hmmmmph. This is more to the point, Doris. _I call your name, but you're not there. Was I to blame for being unfair? Don't you know I can't sleep at night since you've been gone. I always weep at night, I can't go onnnn ... "_ The weather cleared and some scuffling next to the Viscum album made him peer out at the interloper into his space. There in a splash of sunlight stood Rico with his feathery crest stirring in the zephyr. He gestured for Kowalski to follow him.

"Team, there's a new animal in this zoo. A fascinating animal. The humans have captured a Sasquatch. She's in a top security section of the primate house temporarily before transfer to Helsinki. I want to meet her. Kowalski, options?"

Kowalski didn't even need to think. "Imelda says that inside the primate house is an orangutang, and we all know how effective orangs are at getting into and out of enclosures. I think his name is Hugo. I recommend Rico's expertise at exploding entries" --- Rico beamed at the praise --- "tonight into the main primate house and we'll ask Hugo to get us into meeting, meeting her, h-her --- wait --- a _Sasquatch?! They're a myth!_ "

"Thus the fascination. Rico, I want the smallest possible **kaboom** , understood?"

"Awwwwww --- "

"I know, I know, but we don't want to startle the lady. She's even more a stranger to these parts than we are."

"Aw riiiiight." Rico's pout could turn the toughest hearts to mush, but not this time.

"Operation Welcome Wagon is a go."

IOIOIOIOIO


	5. Chapter 5

In the end, Rico's **kaboom**! was more a bubbling _pop!_ followed by a slow fizzling _splpsh_. The primate doors opened obligingly and they were in. The warmth of the building soon made them gag. 

"Onward, men. Through humidity, mist, and thick, choking heat. Follow me!"

Private stood lookout as Skipper, Kowalski, and Rico slid on condensation-slick tile up to where an ancient orangutan dozed on his perch. The ape's habitat featured glass in the front with an admirable attempt to make it appear Asian. Just enough bamboo screened in three stunted trees in front of a stunning painted backdrop, but that's all it was: a backdrop. The reality for the old orang was right before them. Three dried trees, whereas on Sumatra he would have had the lush arboreal canopy to explore. 

Kowalski tapped gently on the glass. "Hugo? Hugo?"

The senior citizen awakened slowly. "Huh. Penguins."

"Yes. Sorry to wake you. We live next to Imelda." At Kowalski's desultory words, Rico yearned to speak more clearly. Anyone who could infiltrate without **kaboom**!ing earned his grudging respect and a large amount of pity.

The surprisingly spry superannuated simian looped himself down from the tree and approached the window. He searched an armpit and came up with a bobby pin. Two clicks and one prod later, the glass door swung open.

He addressed Rico first. "Scuttlebutt at twilight said you want to meet Orang Pendek."

Rico didn't get much attention outside from his brothers unless he were blowing something up. "Huh?"

"Otherwise known as Sasquatch."

Skipper stepped up as leader as was his custom. "Right a rooney. Is she available?" Rico thought that Kowalski and Skipper looked alike at that moment. Their desires practically radiated off them, Skipper's to meet and greet, Kowalski's to scope and probe. Rico shivered.

"I'll check her calendar." While the three peered around the unfamiliar space and panted with incipient heat exhaustion, Hugo's dark eyes seemed to see into their souls. He reached a conclusion and with a gesture that appeared rude but wasn't, he pointed to a solid door at the end of the main hall.

"She's in the back room."

Kowalski couldn't contain himself. "The brutes! Such a rare treasure ought to be in the best habitat the zoo has to offer."

Hugo shrugged. Past other tropical denizens such as the nocturnal aye-aye who waved bony fingers at them and a colobus monkey that was one indistinguishable fluff of black and white, he led them to what looked like a subverted storeroom. One twist of the bobby pin more and the lock clicked. Silently, Hugo gestured for help and the three penguins heaved up the articulated overhead door.

A dark shape turned.

"I'll lock up when you're done grilling her. And," Hugo said over his shoulder as he waddled in a penguin-like gait back to his perch, "be nice to her. Orang Pendek, the saola, and my kind are all on the way out."

Skipper protested to the orang's retreating back, "But we don't want to _grill_ her, we just want to meet --- never mind." He stepped out from the other two penguins. "Miss Sasquatch? I'm Skipper, this is Kowalski and this is Rico. We're pleased to meet you."

Silently, the furred hulk approached. From a face eerily similar to Hugo's, a contralto voice asked, "What are you?"

"We are the penguins."

Sasquatch drew nearer. The silkiest of fur the color of Fred The Squirrel's tree trunk draped a form that dwarfed Commissioner McSlade. "From where?" 

"The splendid continent of Antarctica originally, but we are travelers like you. Where are you from, young lady?"

The contralto got deeper. "Many places. And I'm not so young."

This was turning into an interrogation despite good intentions. "What's your name, your real name?"

"Sasquatch."  


"Come _on_ , that's your species. Do you want a real name? Because I'm going to say Mikaela." Skipper added a winning smile, and he hated to smile.

"No. Sasquatch will do. It always has."

"How about Sassy, if you don't mind? Because Quatchie sounds, um, really weird." This wasn't going well. Under the glossy fur were small curves, right to Skipper's liking in a mammal. He imagined himself preening her, but stopped at the thought of pulling a Doris. Not only yearning for another genus, but another _class_ was Kowalski's thing.

"I mind. It's Sasquatch." She jerked her head in Hugo's habitat's direction. "He thinks I'm related to him somehow because of the orang pendek thing, but I don't think so."

"But you don't _know_ ," Skipper pressed.

"I do know so." The meet-and-greet seemed to be winding down until Kowalski bustled over. 

"Miss Sasquatch, would you mind lifting your arm so I could take your temperature?" The medico bag that Rico had barfed up bulged with stethoscopes, sutures, syringes, a sphygmomanometer, and six tubes of surgical lubricant. "It's for science!" He drooped at her next words.

"No. Enough measurements." Sasquatch sulled up. "Are we done here? I want to say we're done."

Stonewalled, Skipper stepped back more from her personal space. "We are here to help you. It's what we do."

"You can't." Sadness permeated the small room like a smell of wet fur. She waved a leathery palm and the pelt on its back seemed mismatched, as if an old injury had not healed well. "I'm off to Helsinki, maybe tomorrow, maybe next week. Who knows?" Sasquatch turned away to face the blank wall. 

Despite the ambient heat in the building, the back room felt chilly. Skipper wondered how many blank walls she would need to face in the near future. Well, none thicker than the ones she was putting up now. "Good luck on that. If you change your mind --- "

"We won't," chimed in Hugo from the open door. He did something at a wall outlet and the door lowered slowly. The penguins smiled and waved goodbye, but Sasquatch remained unmoved.

After jamming the sphygmomanometer in between the blasted primate house doors to keep in the warmth, Kowalski muttered, "Let them explain _this!"_ and grumped all the way back to the penguin habitat.

IOIOIOIOIO

"Skipper's Log, Hiatus Version 1.0. We've met a Sasquatch and she is a riddle trapped inside an enigma with a pretty good reason for being there. She'll never fit in at any zoo. It makes me mad or sad, I can't decide which. She doesn't want our help, but that's never stopped us before, right, Log? We push on to where no penguin has pushed before --- "

"Sir, you didn't pack your tape recorder. D'you want me to start memorizin' or I'll see if Rico can bring the recorder up on his, um, screen, shall I?"

"No, Private, never mind. It was an unsettling entry anyway."

IOIOIOIOIO

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

"Morning briefing, gentlemen. Private, memorize these minutes. Sasquatch meeting memorable, yet filled with questions. Perhaps the delay in her transportation to Helsinki for three weeks will answer those questions. In the meantime, I'm bored."

  
At these words, Private swayed on his feet, Rico choked on something halfway up or maybe it was halfway down, and Kowalski spluttered, "It's always d-dangerous when you get bored, sir. Cultural exchange between zoos is a _good_ thing. Let's give this one a chance. It doesn't _have_ to end like the Great Ethiopian Cultural Exchange program of Ought Nine."

  
Skipper bounced on his toes. "Hooha! Wasn't that a trip and a half! Our feathers didn't grow back for weeks. Rico's never did come in right again."

  
"I need sugar, sir."

  
It was one week and one day into the exchange. Rico had hacked up some simple necessities of life for the four of them. He hadn't packed Miss Perky for some reason and was the only one of the four not to need _some_ grounding in familiar possessions.

  
At the mention of feathers, Rico pulled at his ragged topknot and made an indescribable noise, even for him. Private rooted in his duffel and handed Kowalski one of his Peanut Butter Winkies. "But I don't like --- never mind. Thanks, Private. Say what, Skipper?"

  
"I'm still bored, gentlemen. We've never been about being just plain playful penguins ---we're about being awesome by solving problems that nobody else could."

The others nodded. Rico pointed to his scar. "Wif price."

"Yes, my friend, with a price." Skipper got back on track. "So now boredom is a problem."

"For _you,_ " muttered Kowalski.

"Yes. Damn straight! And when I have a problem --- "

"We all have one, Skippa?"

"Let me finish, soldier. I want my problem put in the _solved_ file ASAP." This was supposed to be a relaxation program. Perhaps one week was all that Skipper could handle, thought Private. Just as if they were back in Central Park Zoo rather than under a foreboding sky that promised a change in the weather, Skipper paced in front of his squad as he waved his coffee mug. "We solve Marlene's problems, we bring Mason and Phil back together when they've broken up _again_ , and blah blahity blah. That's what we're in Zooville for, right? I mean it isn't like we couldn't leave any time we wanted."

"And do wot, exactly?"

Ever logical when it suited him and sometimes when it didn't, Kowalski threw out options. "Return to Madagascar?"

Skipper choked on his coffee sardine. "Aw _hell_ no."

"Will we be goin' back to Antarctica where there are leopard seals like Hunter? And others not so nice?"

"Possibly in retirement, but that's a long way off for all of us. Well, for _you_ most of all, you little rapscallion." Private dodged a ruffling of his head feathers.

"Skipper, Rico and I think that --"

"Oh, Rico _and_ you."

"Yes, we were talking the other night and --- "

"You were. Do tell."

Kowalski stood his ground, flippers akimbo like Skipper's. _"Yes_ , we were. At any rate, maybe a break from routine would be good for the team in general. We're here in an, an adequate zoo without those lemurs and Marlene and all the rest having problems. We're not bunking on top of a fusion reactor thirteen levels underneath our HQ. Can't we stop and smell the blåklocka?" He crossed his flippers firmly over his chest and favored his leader with a judgmental glare. "That's what you told me to do one time." Rico muttered something. "Oh, all right, Rico. You said that I do it sometimes but not often _enough_."

Skipper got his getting-ready-to-prevail look on. "I don't recall saying that. And that was then, this is now. I want action."

Rico burped up a half-completed ship in a bottle.

"No. Hobbies don't cut it."

Private regained his voice. "Skippa, _I'd_ like a break."

"And normally I'd consider a teensy weensy break, but not now. Do we want these North Polars like Imelda to think we're made of hippie dreams and light frothy metaphors like sea foam and dolphin spray --- oh. Sorry, Kowalski, I forgot ---"

"It's all right, Skipper. Time marches on."

"March! That's it!" There was a gleam in Skipper's eye.

Rico managed to get out four clear words. "I don't get you."

"Private's never done a March of the Penguins. Even better, what month is it?"

"March. But Skipper, that's coincidence."

"No, it isn't. If Ringtail were here, he'd say the Sky Spirits arranged our exchange for a reason. It's so Private can do his March. And it'll be easier on the little guy. It's not as cold as Antarctica and there are fewer humans than in New York City."

Private dragged one toe in a circle. "Do I have to?"

"It's a rite of passage. You're ... ready."

"You hesitated, Skippa."

"It's just that I can't believe how much time has passed since you joined our unit. Makes me feel old."

"Too wrong by half, Skippa, you're not --- "

"Can the sympathy. We leave tonight." Skipper warmed to the subject. "We'll gather intel about homeschooling along the way, Private can do his March, and Rico can swim in the fjord around Kastelholm that we've heard so much about by eavesdropping on the humans. Win-win-win-win."

Kowalski's voice rose in that way that it did. "All in one _night?_ "

"Under pressure, the way we act best. Aren't you going to ask what the fourth win is?"

"Continue! Get on with it! Drop the other herring!" Kowalski _really_ was getting on everyone's nerves. An outing was just the thing that the unit needed. Even Kowalski's performance for the kiddies was subpar these past few days.

"It's going to snow tonight."

IOIOIOIOIO

"This watermelon snow is _fascinating!"_ Kowalski, Rico, and Private inspected their feet and gleefully tracked red trails in a checkerboard pattern on the broad island in their temporary home. "Look, it turns our feet pink, too!"

"Woohoo! Look, everyone! I'm makin' plaid snow!"

There was no shutting Kowalski up. "Watermelon snow contains a species of algae holding red pigment along with green chlorophyll. It _loves_ the cold!"

Private spared a thought for the matter. "But, K'walski, when you mix green and red don't you usually get a nasty brown color?"

"Red is way cooler, so no." Kowalski tromped through the thin layer of snow, head swiveling back and forth as he glanced behind himself to admire the garish tracks, and it wasn't long before he smashed into Rico. Rico had stopped in awe to gaze at the midnight northern light display.

 **"Kaboom kaboom kaboom!"** Rico rolled onto his back with ninja grace at the impact, forcing Kowalski's long body to sprawl on top of him, toe to almost-toe. He twisted the second-in- command's narrow shoulders until Kowalski, too, beheld the ever-changing ribbons of color that swirled through the brighter-than-bright Milky Way.

Kowalski grunted and turned away. "We've _all_ seen auroras before, Rico, what's so special ---"

Rico pinned Kowalski underneath him in a Routine Twelve maneuver, spouting something wild that Kowalski disputed. "I do _not_ need preening at the moment! Stop! What are you --- get that out of my eyes --- my eyes --- what did you do --- it's --- it's --- beautiful --- I never knew it could be like this --- "

Kowalski was at a loss for words as he flopped nervelessly by Rico's side. White, green, blue, and violet gavotted across the Arctic sky, but underneath the dance of primary and secondary notes glowed colors that Kowalski could not name. He scrubbed at his eyes. "The oil from your preening got into my eyes and I see even more ultraviolet range in the aurora. It must interact with our avian retina's fourth cone and now I see --- I see --- indescribable --- thanks, Rico. _You've_ made a discovery this time."

Rico crooned a question.

"No, I already rubbed a lot of it out. But that's okay, I saw enough, you don't need to --- "

Rico couldn't be dissuaded.

"All right. Preen me again, big fella."

"Hey you two, some other time. Let's move out. Form up."

IOIOIOIOIO

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

"Wot's that lorry doin' parked way out here? Suspicious, right, K'walski?"

The trickle past the snowy verge of the road contained only inches of water, so Private's march was truly a March. Intel said that the trickle turned into a sizable moat around the impressive castle. Pfft, some defense by a puny moat, snorted Kowalski to himself, as if penguins would ever use _water_ as an effective tactic for protection. Kastelholm lay miles in the distance and personally, Kowalski preferred sliding in the snow to marching. He studied the logo on the lorry's side that depicted starry-eyed parents emoting over their brand new home while a little girl clutched her stuffed polar bear and cried. "Let's consider that Ålanders move house as much as anyone else does in life, Private, and continue until the castle. Skipper, sliding is the optimal method of transport at this point. Permission to slide?"

  
"Yeah, my feet hurt, too. Commence sliding on my mark." The four lined up abreast as if competing in the Penguin Olympics 200-meter Breaststroke event. "Mark." The verge was wide enough for four little penguins to slide in a row. After a moment to find proper placement, the team kicked, wriggled, and steered in a perfect formation. Anyone watching would have noted four bodaciously fast seabirds zipping like a Blue Angels aerial routine along the quiescent island countryside. The miles slid away, too, until a slight rise in the landscape made them resume walking.

  
Kowalski consulted his abacus. "Kastelholm is still a mile away, Skipper." Some woods sheltered the road, deciduous trees bare and sad while the evergreens supplied spotty cover.

  
Skipper brushed ice crystals from his pristine front. "We should march single file."

  
After another quarter mile, Private could no longer keep silent. "Skippa, I'm lonely."

  
"The March _is_ mostly single file. It's tradition. Suck it up."

  
An agreeing squeak issued from Rico at caboose position as he stomped along in close order march behind Kowalski as Kowalski's attention seemed elsewhere. Another quarter mile passed with Private at point and Skipper next in line waiting for the next gripe. It would likely be not long in coming, and then he could put his compromise in place if needed. _If_ he felt like it. For the good of the team, of course. Always think ahead, Skipper thought to himself, a plan B is preferable to being caught flat-flippered. And Private was so damn, um, _cussed_ young, he mused. He wasn't coddling him, he _wasn't._

  
"Are we there yet?"

  
It was best to give reasons for orders when time allowed. "We walk single file so that anyone pursuing can't gauge our numbers."

  
"Who would be followin' us?"

  
"You never know."

  
The snow was plain white in these woods. Kowalski found the regular color boring now that he had experienced watermelon snow. "Skipper, I think we're all right."

  
"It's my job not to."

  
Two hundred fifty steps later, Private sighed loud enough to be heard but didn't crab anymore.

  
"Private, don't make me turn this March around --- okay, fine. Traditions, laws, customs, made to be broken, I say. Did you ever hear New Yorkers talk about something called Prohibition? Fall out and take five."

  
"Skipper, come look at this." Kowalski ought to have been nearly invisible in the shade of a mighty roadside pine at night, but he wasn't. An eerie glow illuminated his long form and he looked like a Central Park lamppost in travel size. "Phosphorescent moss and lichen and some fungi known as foxfire."

  
Skipper scratched at the lichen and some flaked off on his flipper. He sniffed it. "This could be useful to weaponize. Kowalski, analysis."

  
"It's bioluminescent to glow in the dark, but it's unpredictable. Analysis is that a Maglite is more practical. Rico can nearly always upchuck one of those."

  
After a moment, Skipper cocked his head. "And Rico _isn't_ unpredictable? But good analysis, Kowalski. Not everything needs to be a weapon."

  
"A monumental concession for you, may I say, sir. Sometimes we just appreciate Mother Nature." Kowalski studied his leader. "You look all green like you did when we thought you were a zombie."

  
Skipper stretched out each flipper and waved the first one that was broken during that fiasco. "Why bring that up?"

  
"I did poorly with the team. Maybe I need a do over on training as your second in command."

  
Skipper glanced over to where Rico and Private made penguin snow angels. "It _was_ weird and stormy out that night. Your imagination got the better of you. You did all right in the end."

  
Kowalski moved away from the glowing moss and was invisible once more. "My imagination does that a lot."

  
"So? We all have weaknesses. I just don't like to talk about mine. Hah, there's the sign for the bridge to the castle, see it down the road? Rico! Private! Two minute warning!"

  
"Something else, Skipper. Do you like the northern or the southern lights better?"

  
"The southern lights are just the same as here, but as an Antarctican through and through, I like them better. I'll never claim to be a citizen of the world. Antarctica is home. That answer your question, Mr. Science Guy?"

  
Kowalski put on his softest voice. "Getting to the homeschooling, the odds are 0.005231 that there will ever be a new Viking uprising. Look around you. Isn't this about the most peaceful place we've ever been?"

  
Skipper got strident before Kowalski caught his second wind. "Homeschooling would do that, now wouldn't it! All these little kiddies being rested up to learn bright and early tomorrow morning about how to conquer the outside world, prepped by their mommies and daddies. No school dances, no talent shows, no schoolkid crushes, no back to school nights, just work work work."

  
Rico and Private came over to see what the loud talk was about. Kowalski tried not to cave in front of them. "Sir, it could be that the woman was encouraging her child to study hard, you know? If I ever had hatchlings, I would do that to help them --- "

  
The door to discussion slammed shut. "Do you know that? Do you? Nope. There was a definite solid plan there. I could feel it. We march." Kowalski ignored a loon's laughing cry somewhere around the nearby fjord as he took up his position in the small column.

  
They crossed a bridge and stopped at the base of a smallish hill.

  
"So this is Kastelholm."

  
IOIOIOIOIO

  
TBC


	8. Chapter 8

Private's enthusiasm reached quantum levels. "Oooooh, yayyyyyy! It looks like wot you've all told me about our rookery on Antarctica! It's got oodles of levels and shines in the moonlight like a really shiny thing and it's almost _indigo ice_ under the stars!"

  
"Kowalski, analysis?"

  
"Kastelholm is a castle left over from power plays between Finland, Sweden, and Denmark hundreds of Marches ago." Rico cooed and slapped his own rump as if he were a rider on a horse as he galloped towards Private, who played as if grabbing the reins of a recalcitrant steed.

  
"Oooh, good question, Rico! Were there faintin' damsels in silks and sword swingin' knights in tournaments ridin' fiery warhorses?"

  
"I'm not sure. It's been used to store grain a lot."

  
"Oh."

  
"And to build ships, Private! Don't look so glum. It's surrounded by a fjord, it's made of brick and mortar with granite capstones in some parts, it has two towers with the bigger one about 70 feet from the ground, and it has two baileys --- " Kowalski hurried to get this infodump out before being interrupted with what he knew would come next.

  
Skipper tapped the tips of his flippers together. "Denmark, you say? Those ships. Would those be _Viking_ ships?"

  
"Way after the time of the Vikings, sir. Waaaaaayyyyy after."

  
"Oh." Skipper surveyed the castle. The tension of past conflicts that lay pulsing in its depths was layered over with masterful control, which was just what he admired about a building or anyone, actually. Late winter constellations wheeled above and really, this March was turning out to be a stellar event for the whole team and not just Private. The castle loomed still before them and there was no traffic on the road ringing the stone structure. After they had passed the deserted lorry miles back, they had seen no cars and that was, Skipper admitted, quite pleasant after New York City 24/7 bustle. Yes, this was the place.

  
Kowalski reached a similar decision. "It would be way cool to scale the heights after jumping this pitiful security fence, Skipper --- "

  
"Quiet, I'm thinking. Time until the zoo opens?"

  
Kowalski's brain calculated the angle of the moon and the position of the polar stars in a split second. "'About eight hours."

  
"Men, it'll be just me and Private on top of that castle. It's time to up Private's security clearance tonight for his 'special briefing.' "

  
"Oooooooh, Skippa! Air quotes!"

  
"Air quotes. The sign of highest import." Kowalski became the voice of reason. The senior members of the team nodded firmly to each other. "We understand, Skipper. It's time." Kowalski turned away, but Rico stood fixed in place. His grin brought all sorts of angst to Private. "Come along, Rico," said Kowalski. "We'll cannonball into the fjord around the castle. You'd like that, right? Fjord? Like in the Norway cruise brochure? Us two, together? Never swim alone?"

  
"Ah huh." Rico continued to grin and Kowalski dragged him away with an apologetic glance at Private.

  
"Should I be prepared for somethin' drastic?"

  
"You should." Skipper led the way to what Private _thought_ was called a battlement, but to him looked like a crumbling wall. Up, up they climbed through scree clustered at the base, and then they hopped from toehold to toehold up the sheer wall like the athletes they were. Private normally would have made a game of it or even raced Skipper to the top. Something told him not to and to follow instead. Once they reached a stopping point at the top of the crumbly bit thirty feet up from the newfallen snow, he made to continue to the top of the highest tower one hundred feet over and forty more feet up. The roof of all parts of the castle were coated with metallic shingles to ward off snow, but snow stubbornly dotted the metal in several slick-looking places. It would have looked magnificent in the moonlight if it were watermelon snow, but it wasn't.

  
Private couldn't help being exuberant. Special briefing! Higher security clearance! Need to know! "Up to the rooftop, then?" The roof of Kastelholm contained the steepest pitch that he'd ever seen. With firm guidance from the excellent example of penguinhood standing before him, how could he fail to reach the tip-toppiest top no matter how slippery the slope?

  
Skipper looked around. "Nah, here is good." He plopped his fluffy behind on a granite block bigger than a breadbox and patted the space beside him. He swung his feet. "Plotz."

  
"Aww, Skippa, I can make the top."

  
"This is high enough. Do you want your 'special briefing' or not? As ranking Private First Class of this unit, you have the right to refuse." Skipper leveled a steady gaze at the anxious young penguin.

  
Private glanced yearningly towards the rooftop forty feet above him. He knew he could make it, why New York City's skyscrapers could look down on this _castle_ with stories and stories towering above it, and he had scaled many a tall building on a single zipline or at most several bounds. It wasn't fair.

  
Skipper's crisp tones broke Private's sulling up. "Make up your mind. I'm giving you 1.8 more minutes and then I'm outta here. Looking forward to jackknifing into the fjord, now that I see how big it is." He jerked his beak towards the view.

  
The full moon shed light on the prettiest vista that Private had seen since jetpacking over the countryside after defeating Dave, AKA Dr. Octavius Brine. The fjord glinted as starlight picked out wavetops riffled by the light breeze, the Ploughman drove the Bears around the Pole Star, and he thought he could see two little splashes emerging from under the bridge that had to have been Rico and Kowalski cavorting. Was that a charming windmill through the linden trees in the distance? Private sat down.

  
"Good choice. Let's start on the hard stuff, get it out of the way. Private, this 'special briefing' is about the team and how it works. You'll know more at the end than at the beginning. First off, any questions?"

  
"Wot happened with Doris and K'walski?"

  
"Relationships, yes you would want to know about them since you're you and so _damn_ sensitive. Um."

  
"A brief briefin', please, Skippa."

  
"Outstanding, because I'm not good with words. Like these ones I'm about to say. These ones, starting right ... here." Skipper stopped swinging his feet. "Doris The Dolphin met Kowalski when you were moulting your second set of adorable downy feathers and we left you behind on the Operation: Dolphin Island mission. He was um, oh, er, _struck_ , to put it politely, by her sonar ability and shiny hide, I guess. Rico and I never saw it, but there you go. They dated a few times, she wanted someone hipper, and she broke things off. Kowalski was a wreck for six awful, _endless_ months. When I met her again on a solo mission off Coney Island during the Mermaid Parade that _claimed_ to show real mermaids --- "

  
Private was anxious to contribute something to tonight's epic event. "Oooh, yes, the brawl from the Wonder Wheel all the way to the Tilt-a-Whirl when the crowd discovered that there _aren't_ any real mermaids, I remember that --- "

  
"Actually, there _are_ real mermaids in Atlantis, but your security clearance isn't high enough for me to tell you more. Back to Doris, Kowalski, and ... your own commanding officer. She said she wanted to be _friends_ with Kowalski --- "

  
"But that's super! Just like all of us are friends --- "

  
"Not when you want something more, young Private."

  
Private shoved this away to think about later. "So wot happened next? When did she tell you that she wanted to be friends with K'walski?"

  
"When she kissed me goodnight. And when she kissed me good morning."

  
"Oh, Skippa, you didn't."

  
Skipper stared at the faraway windmill. "I did. I never wanted Kowalski to find out, but when Doris met Kowalski again and they reconnected, she blabbed everything." He shrugged. "It was just my bad luck day."

  
"But _why_ \--- "

  
"Here's my fail, Private. He didn't speak to me or invent anything for a month and it was hurting the team, so I'll tell you what I told him. 'Kowalski,' I said, 'the morning after, Doris thought that she and I were an item. I got ready to leave, she got mad and asked, 'If you're going to treat me this way, why did you, uh er uh, _go out with_ me?' in this _really_ screechy dolphin voice that haunts me even now. 'Because he couldn't,' I said. 'Because you're the type to run him ragged.' Now you realize, Private, that this was difficult to say to Kowalski."

  
"I can imagine."

  
"Yes, it was muy difícil to get these words out between dodging punches and roundhouse kicks. I'm only telling you this because your 'special briefing' ought to include fiascos as well as good things about our team. After my black eyes cleared up but before the ulcers went away, he and I were on good terms again. And he and Doris have now moved on, or away, or something, I can't follow all the ups and downs." Skipper rubbed his forehead. "It makes it hurt right here."

  
Private rubbed his own forehead. "And you told me you fell down the stairs, right, I remember now. So you, um, with someone you didn't fancy for the team. I get it."

  
"Your security clearance just upped a notch. There are lots of things you don't need to know, but" --- Skipper heaved a breath --- "this next part you do need to know, and it's a good thing in life and in the team. Private, when two birds lo- _like_ each other very much --- "

  
IOIOIOIOIO

  
" --- aaaaand that's why what happened happened between Miss Kitka and myself and that's why you saw what you saw when we did what we ... did. There. Any questions no good we're done here let's go swim."

  
"Skippa, I _know_ about sex. Look, I even drew a picture in the snow! Wot I really want to learn is how to be a leader."

  
"Pffft, that's easy! Make your word your bond. End of story." Skipper leaned forward. "Let _me_ see the drawing, Private. Hmmm." In a jiffy, Skipper sketched two more figures in convoluted poses. "That's the Chinstrap Sisters and me. Anything else?"

  
"Wot's that big hairy thing up there on top of the highest tower?"

  
IOIOIOIOIO

  
TBC

 


	9. Chapter 9

Skipper followed Private's gaze one hundred feet over and forty feet up. "It's ... Sasquatch? How did she get out of the zoo and up on the tower roof and we didn't hear anything --- let's go say hello."

  
It took agility to navigate in darkness along the battlement, but they each had that in spades. Over and up the 40 feet to the tip-toppiest roof ridge they bounded. Once Private slipped on black ice that formed on top of the indigo ice, but the sure extension of Skipper's foot saved him from a faceplant or even a killing fall. Sasquatch watched in silence as they approached.

  
"Hello, you remember me, right? And this is Private. How's it going?"

  
No answer. Skipper tried Spanish. There was no telling what traumatic events had led to her escape, if it were an escape. A different language could jolt her into a response. "¿Como está, señorita?" Private chimed in with an 'allo!' but there was nothing friendly, welcoming or even curious on Sasquatch's face.

  
Something odd about Sasquatch's fur garnered Skipper's attention. In the gloom of the back room in the primate house, it had appeared silky smooth except on the back of her hands, but now under the full moon he saw that the front and sides had mismatched ripples as if there were multiple cowlicks throughout her pelt. Maybe that was the norm for Sasquatches? Was she having a bad fur day? Any lady he had ever known would not take such an observation without offense. He'd play diplomat, just this once.

  
He had his mouth open to say "Let us help you" when Sasquatch turned sideways, let her legs sprawl and straddled the icy ridge of the metal roof. Skipper and Private winced in sympathy at the freezing seat, but Sasquatch's expression didn't change. Now that she was more at their level, she crossed her arms and spoke. "Добро пожаловать," she said.

  
"Whoa whoa whoa! I haven't spoken Russian since the gulag, and that was ages ago." Skipper rubbed his beak. "So you're saying 'welcome'? Welcome to what, sister?"

  
"Холат-Сяхыл."

  
Skipper backed away and even stumbled a little on the angled surface. "What? What are you --- _why_ would you bring that up?"

  
"Мы вас похороним!"

  
Private sensed menace and went into battle mode. Flippers at combat ready, he backed up, too, until the edge of the roof. He looked down. Seventy feet below in the lee of the prevailing wind lay the dark patch of ground where previous snow had melted to form mud. Moonlight bathed the castle with only a few scudding clouds left over from the evening's snowfall, but in the castle's shadow the ground below seemed blacker than the Mariana Trench. In fact, he couldn't imagine a scarier scenario than what they were in. The team was two penguins short and the intel was scanty on Sasquatch's abilities. Skipper, bless him, tried to make peace.

  
"Look, whatever's happened to you on Åland or in Canada or wherever else you've suffered, we'll make it right. Just don't mention Death Mountain again, okay? Because Перевал Дятлова creeps me out." Skipper risked a glance back at Private. "Bad thing happened there, you don't need to know more, stay focused."

  
Sasquatch reached out with long, strong arms. "I came here for _you_ , Skipper."

  
"Lucky Skipper. Private, evasive!" Skipper backpedaled in a controlled skid.

  
Private didn't need to be told twice. He spread out his flippers for balance and sidestepped some sort of projection that rose from the roof ridge, but then there he stood at the brink again, looking down off the roof's edge with nowhere else to go. In a daring slide, he launched himself forward diagonally down the slick roof, catching his claws in a spot of soft snow that clung to the metallic shingles despite all odds. He scrabbled for traction and that loosened the snow so that it slid further down the roof's steep pitch. The gutter caught him as well as the snow just in time. He looked up to see how Skipper was faring.

  
The projecting bit turned out to be a windvane, because Skipper secured both feet in a stylized metal rooster's tail as he whirled like a horizontal dervish with flippers of fury outstretched. Faster and faster he spun against the backlight of the full moon, a pummeling powerful penguin that Sasquatch could not grab. She may have stretched to her full height again, but the windvane's staff was tall and the rooster enhanced with a spinning Skipper whirled at face level to her. More punches than not reached her jaw. She staggered backwards and for a moment Private thought the battle was won then and there, but she regained her balance with some wild arm waving. She rejoined the fray, and it was time that he did, too.

  
He wallowed in the gutter's deep scoop of water to slick his feathers and flung himself flat onto the metal shingles. Using the sharp tips of his flippers to propel himself up the shingles as he kept his center of gravity low, he zigzagged his way back to the roof ridge. With a bit of luck, he could snake behind Sasquatch to provide a second front. How different this ascent was than the half-playful scramble up to the battlement of only an hour ago!

  
Private still didn't really want to hurt Sasquatch, but the practical matter was that Sasquatch could withstand a fall from this height better than him or Skipper. Whatever her painful background was that Skipper had divined through their brief conversation tonight, there was no denying the truth in this instant: Sasquatch wanted them out of the picture, whatever the picture was, and she was big and strong enough to do it. Even with Rico and Kowalski at fighting trim and them all doing their utmost as a foursome, the battle would be one for the Awesome Avian Action Arcade video game that Kowalski was always nattering about programming.

  
_skreeeeongggggggg_ Off flew the weather vane from its staff with Skipper clinging to the rooster with only one foot. They whirled through the air and even though his commander couldn't technically fly, Private saw that Skipper maneuvered the spinning top-like action of the windvane by sticking out his flippers like ailerons. The rooster and the penguin parted company when they hit the crumbling top of the battlement forty feet below. Sasquatch whooped like an Irish banshee as she skimmed down the slope of the roof à la Tony Hawk. She continued screaming as she honed in on Skipper like a leopard seal with borborygmi.

  
Private's blood curdled.

  
IOIOIOIOIO

  
TBC

  
A/N thanks to my friend Nisa for the Russian *mwah*


	10. Chapter 10

Private slalomed back down the icy roof to the gutter. From there, his leap twenty-five feet down to the battlement occurred with no conscious work on his part. He launched into Routine Thirty-Two: Confuse And Distract. "Look at me, you knucker! I'm the littlest and easiest to catch!" He ran in esses before the battling pair. "Hey, come and get me!" He staged a slip-and-fall when neither Skipper nor Sasquatch paid him mind. 

Right, then. It was time for Routine Eighteen, which admittedly worked best with flying birds. "Oh oh oh, I'm hurt, whatever shall I _do?_ " As well as dragging one flipper on the ground, he shuffled and moaned. "Goodness me, I can't run away!" Private produced his signature touch. He lurched along as he added a sprained ankle to the broken flipper. "Oh dear oh dear oh dear!" He threw in a convincing scream because he knew that Skipper would recognize the routine since it was his own invention.

If Skipper heard him, he didn't let on. Sasquatch glanced at the commotion for a precious moment, allowing Skipper to wriggle his compact muscular body downwards on his foe to assay Routine One. Skipper delivered a firm kick to the crotch that would give any mammal pause, male or female. It had no effect on Sasquatch. Private saw the bullet-like attack and the solid connect. What was she _made_ of, what had shaped her into this unstoppable assassin? He dropped any deception when Sasquatch swept Skipper up in two cruel hands.

"Let your rapidity be that of the wind, your compactness that of the forest," thought Private as he flashed back on Skipper's relating a lesson to his team from something called _The Art of War_ that Ma had read aloud only to him. There had existed unexpected depths to Ma, Private suspected, as he leaped for Sasquatch's broad back as quickly as a dustdevil could turn into a whirlwind. He scrambled up to her neck and entangled both feet in her fur. He clapped a flipper over each baleful brown eye, keeping himself as small a target as possible.

"Боже мой!" Sasquatch choked out and when Private savaged her ears or where he thought the ears would be underneath all that fur, she danced and howled. But she didn't do the important thing, she didn't let go of Skipper and if she squeezed hard with both those meaty paws, he'd be done for. Private pecked and squawked as loud as he could while switching tactics to karate chop the thick neck. At last one broad hairy hand released Skipper to bat at the flippered ferocity bedeviling her. When a misstep in the snow sat her down with a jolt, Private thought success was at hand. Not a rousing success, perhaps, but survival was good enough this time. He hung on as Skipper twisted out of Sasquatch's grip completely.

Skipper gritted, "Go for help!" as he went directly for the throat. Lightning fast karate chops alternated with roundhouse blows and clawing and pecking. Private would have said that Skipper abandoned all his usual grace for barroom brawling techniques, but in a fight like this and in this skittering setting, two little penguins needed a change in tactics.

He felt this even more when Sasquatch rolled her shoulders, swung her massive head and threw herself onto her back. To avoid being crushed, he tumbled down and wriggled out to freedom, but not before handing her a sound pecking at a mammal's chief tickling spot, the waist. Sure enough, she wrenched to one side and this gave Skipper the chance to flail away without pause on the curve of her neck. He avoided her clutches, but Private wasn't as skillful.

Sasquatch surged to her feet with Skipper taking the place of Private in karate chopping her neck from a perch on her shoulder. As if to display her own strength offhandedly, she ignored the attack, dropped Private onto one size 15EEE foot and then punted him off the battlement. As he sank out of sight to an anguished "You fiend!" from Skipper, Private thought in a wild delirium that his fall would look splendid in 3D.

IOIOIOIOIO

In the dizzying spin towards an unforgiving earth, Private wheeled ass over teakettle and his mind did that thing that it usually did in falls or other memorable moments in his life as part of Skipper's team. The undefinable entity that was Time billowed out unstoppably in the same way whether the event was good or bad. This fall was bad, but Lunacorn episodes were good, and each polar opposite circumstance meant that he was unaware of the outside world for a while. In fact, how much time had his 'special briefing' lasted? He'd thought only an hour, but as impact approached and he saw that he was not going to get skewered by a pine branch or smashed onto rocks, he laughed at his foolish notions. The 'special briefing' had taken far longer than one measly hour as he and Skipper shared experiences and gotten to know each other better. Private made contact with a penguin's best friend, snow, cackling giddily at the sheer relief of staying alive.

Time did its usual telescoping thing when the snowbank provided an angled surface to deflect his fall as it nestled against immutable Kastelholm. Private turned the rapid slide into a zigzag that slowed his momentum and by the time he had reached bottom, he didn't need Kowalski to tell him that he was A-OK. Once again, he looked up to see how the battle was going.

Skipper and Sasquatch danced with Lady Danger on the roof ridge once more. Although he was at the top of his game and physically superior to all team members, Skipper had to be wearing down. Private vowed to make sure his virginal March didn't become a Funeral March for anyone on his team. He wouldn't want it to become one for Sasquatch, either, but let the chips fall as they may.

IOIOIOIOIO

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

Skipper would say to sitch recon before heading back into battle and Private obeyed. He could see Sasquatch and Skipper in a no-holds-barred fight to the death. By everything that was penguin, Skipper was giving it all he had just like in the debut match with the Rat King, but he was bound to need backup. _Never swim alone ..._ Oh _no._ Skipper's lesson from _The Art of War_ specifically stated that you need to leave an escape route for the enemy so that they could flee your main troops and run into the ambush you had set up before! And there was no Rico or Kowalski to be the ambush! Private wasted no time being the ambush. Going for help was _not_ an option. "Sorry, Skippa, disobeyin' orders."

  
Without Rico's auto-barf grappling hook, it would take many New York minutes to reach Skipper's side. Private studied the boarded up windows that he and Skipper had bypassed when scaling Kastelholm what seemed decades ago. This'll be just like cliffhopping, he thought. He kept the fight in view as he dashed for the castle wall, and right before the line of sight was cut off, he saw Skipper perform his signature move: the Modified Omega Boom. Skipper used the windvane staff to gain momentum for a full frontal attack, spinning in focused fury while Private watched. What would happen next was that Skipper would rocket off to plant both iron-hard feet in Sasquatch's solar plexus to squash all the air out of her. She'd drop to her knees, fall from the rooftop, and by then Private would have gained the time to scramble topside unless his commander joined him down here. Private halted his steps, gauged which window ledge he'd aim for first and eyed the results of the Modified Omega Boom. This was going to be epic.

  
What impossibility was _this?_ Sasquatch was rocked backwards and waving crazy arms like a SkyDancer but she wasn't falling? And Skipper was distracted, oh he of the laser beam intensity that carried on when Private himself was booted off the battlement with possible injuries? Private's jaw dropped as Skipper took his eye off his foe to look down as if to gauge unsure footing. Sasquatch threw her full length forward in a whip-like crunch exercise and then grabbed Skipper as she lay prone. They must have been face to face and if they exchanged taunts, Private couldn't hear them over the thundering of his heart. He shook his head over and over as Sasquatch gained her feet, brandished Skipper over her head with a triumphant howl and dashed him to the earth seventy feet below. Skipper bounced in mud once three yards from Private's horrified eyes before coming to rest on snowy rocks and lying still. Private did hear Sasquatch yell then even though his heart hammered like a Chinese New Year gong. "Yessss!"

  
It must have been his imagination that he heard a sob afterwards.

  
IOIOIOIOIO

  
Ice ringed the rushes around the shores of the fjord and that afforded well over one hour of ice skating fun for the penguin pair. They wove between the reeds, played hide-and-seek in the bulrushes, practiced ice hockey routines with a frozen oak gall and generally let time pass them by. Kowalski accused Rico of cherry picking and Rico countered with charges of illegally employing the lacrosse move that the NHL wanted to declare illegal but couldn't until they both decided that the ice-free rippling water in the middle of the fjord was best. Kowalski analyzed that the water was near freezing, determined that the fish in it weren't to his liking, and estimated that if the Bears ever turned on the Ploughman to eat him, life on earth would end as penguins knew it. He paddled lazily around as he wondered whether dolphins ever made it up the river as far as Ellis Island.

  
Rico decided to be a New York City fireboat. Like a penguin possessed, he spewed water from his gut that seemed inexhaustible, but wasn't. He made siren sounds, rolled over and over like Marlene did sometimes, and accomplished what ought to be impossible: he took Kowalski's mind off science and Doris.

  
"You fool. You always could make the hours fly by for me ever since we were hatchlings," Kowalski laughed. "Now pretend I'm the fire chief."

  
Rico saluted with both flippers. "Ah huh. Wheeee ooooo wheeee ooooo wheeee oooooo wheee oooopblpblppbbllopblhalp. Halp. _Halp!_ " With both flippers stilled, his top part sank into the black depths of the fjord and only his waving feet and round bottom upended at the surface like Mama Duck's did when she searched for sustenance in the sediment of the park's pond. Burps putt-putted from the inky depths in an S-O-S pattern.

  
Kowalski was not fooled. "Oh, no, you don't! Not gonna get me to panic, no way, nuh _uh_. Come and get me!" He slapped the waggling tail feathers, pulled a kicking foot, and shot off like a bullet. He was one seventeenth of the way around Kastelholm when a torpedo surged by him. It was Rico, riding a bazooka rocket the way that a cowboy rides a runaway horse.

  
The rocket's wake sounded like the noises Rico made on a regular basis inside the stuffy confines of their New York HQ, but Kowalski wasn't alarmed and only laughed harder when Rico croaked, "Lookit _meeeee!"_ as he tried to stand up on the rocket. Its rondeur slewed in the water like the cylinder it was and soon Rico logrolled it as he laughed louder than the loon they'd heard earlier in the night. At last he misstepped and splashed into the water, and this time Kowalski followed him down in a dizzy spin all the way to the bottom of the moat.

  
"Moats, boats, floats, notes," sang Kowalski when he popped to the surface. Rico bobbed in front of him after a moment, grinning like he never did before. " _Dotes_ ... totes ... " Kowalski trailed off. "Totally, um, poetry. I haven't composed a single stanza since she --- "

  
As they swam under the bridge, Rico regurgitated a brine shrimp delicacy for him. Kowalski gulped it down to derail his train of thought. "These are actually sea monkeys, you know. Children all over the world keep them as pets."

  
"Meh."

  
"I guess you're right, Rico. Meh."

  
A wisp of cloud cleared the moon. The peace that Kastelholm had earned through the centuries broke into shards as snarls and cries of 'Hi-yaaaaaa!' reached their earholes.

  
"Look! Skipper and Private up top and what is that _thing_ they're fighting?"

  
"Bug _owwwwt!"_ Rico swung like Tarzan from a dangling mooring rope to scuttle upwards and Kowalski followed to the top of the bridge.

  
"Faster, Rico, let's go, big fella!"

  
IOIOIOIOIO

  
TBC

 


	12. Chapter 12

"Ow ow ow! Don't touch the belly!"  


"I'm just goin' to roll you over so I can see, keep calm, I know it hurts, stop hyperventilatin' you'll get dizzy, you can't stay on top of these rocks ---"  


"Ow ow ow! Not the chest!"

Breaking the awful silence, a lone bird gearing up for dawn tweeted from a far above perch in the line of pine trees between Kastelholm and the road. Private brushed away bloody gravel and many damaged feathers from Skipper's chest. When he was done, he realized that Skipper had not said anything in a while.

"Breathe, Skippa! _Breathe!"_ What sort of bird would keep on singing in a situation like this? Kowalski would know. And where _were_ Kowalski and Rico? Were they having such fun that they forgot the team? Surely the noise of battle in the midst of all this countryside quiet penetrated their select little universe?

More silence. A heaving breath, then, "Ow! Hurts to breathe! Damn you, Sasquatch! You've done me in!"

Private's voice got very small as his world narrowed to just this moment. "Don't go. Don't die."

"Ow ow ouch owww. Ugh. Uhhhhh _nnngh_ \--- no good, I can't move. You'll need to help me. Don't touch that, it's sore. That, either. Aggggh, not the left side, ouch!"

"Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!"

At Private's distress, Skipper appeared to get it together. "It's more like really ... uncomfortable," he amended. 

"Excruciatin'? Tortuous?"

"Can't come up with a third thing? Yeah, it's excruciating --- no, worse than excruciating. Worse than Doc's needles. I think ... this is it, amigo." There was little sense in the blank gaze. "Everything looks so gray."

Private looked around desperately and saw Sasquatch disappearing through the pines as she sped over the horizon in the growing daylight. Private should have tailed her. He wanted to, but he wanted to hear Skipper's last words more. "I've got it easy," gasped Skipper. "I don't have to go back and tell _them_."

"Stay for me? For us all?" 

Their lives as commandos were dangerous. Even if every current team member survived for a considerable time against all odds, in the natural course of events his leader would always waddle ahead of him in the long penguin march into eternity. 

Skipper opened his eyes wide as if to memorize Private's face, but drowsiness won out. "It would be the only reason I'd come back, if I could." Even the lone idiot of a dawn bird kept its silence in this moment. There was now no sense left in his leader's words or behind his gaze. "The worms will get me," Skipper whispered. He closed his eyes with a long sigh.

There was a _crash_ and a _spurkle_ behind them, followed by a _crunch_ into slushy sounding snow. Private scrambled to his feet to defend his own, but it was only an icicle falling from a barren linden branch. With adrenaline pouring into his system but no outlet for it, he stood trembling for a moment and then sagged to the cold white earth.

IOIOIOIOIO

"It's a natural thing to die, it _is_." Private rested on his bottom in the snow and his flippers drew idle circles at his side. That stupid bird twittered again and the rising dawn breeze rustled pine needles until he thought he'd go mad. The dumping of last evening's snow had mostly cleared the skies and it promised to be a cool but pleasant day to die in. 

It hurt like nothing else ever had to see Skipper's limp body. He ran a claw up the sole of Skipper's uninjured foot and when this failed to produce the usual involuntary giggle followed by a reprimanding clout, he slumped further. Then he slammed his flippers down and straightened his spine. "Well, I _reject_ nature!"

Private leaped to his feet, galvanized. "Think, Private, think! Wot would K'walski say? Keep him warm, that's the ticket, hey!" 

He panicked. "Wot do I do, wot do I do?" 

Blind instinct took over. "Will he fit inside my brood pouch? Ow! No! Try harder, Private. Maybe just the top bits, then? Ow ow ow! No flippin' way, he's too big for me! Now _you're_ bleedin', you git! Stop hurtin' yourself then, you'll not do _him_ any good."

Adrift on the ice floe that carried them all away from Antarctica to new adventures, there had been storms aplenty. Skipper, Rico, and Kowalski exposed their own backs to the cold polar winds and cuddled newly-hatched Private on their nurturing feet. Decency dictated that he return the lovingkindness. As he pressed himself to Skipper's side and pinched the broken chest together in hopes of stopping a bleed out, Kowalski's words from long ago skittered through his mind. They overpowered the annoying skrawking of the persistent dawn singer. "Private, we are birds, and we heal fast with our metabolism. We just need a fighting chance, that's all."

Private whimpered when his own front turned red like a cherry snowcone mixed with delicious passion fruit juice. Blood mixed into the dirt of battle there to form a nasty mess. He held the shreds of whitening skin together as time cascaded into a devouring flood. Despair squeezed his heart when the coagulating drips of red seemed to be getting larger, not smaller. 

Something tickled his feet. He kicked away first one, then a stream of black insects that foraged with the dawn despite freezing weather. Now that the immediate press of battle morphed into lifesaving techniques, he scouted around for help from the environment. Scrabbling from hundreds of tiny legs on top of snow reached his earholes.

The congada line of insects succeeded in making him even more miserable. "Geroff! Bloody aitch ee double hockeysticks! You nasty ... little ... buggers ... eh?" One black larva tweezered his left foot with outsized jaws, decided that he was not prey, and moved along in its own version of a March. Abruptly, Private remembered Kowalski's fascination with a nature documentary about the Mbuti humans' clever medical techniques in the back country where Band-Aids were scarce. He acted.

"Here now, show me you're good for somethin'! Bite him hard!" Private dangled a wiggling black insect over the largest gaping wound and the jaws pincered its edges shut like a suture. With the gash reduced to a seeping slit, Private did the necessary. "Sorry!" He snapped off the larva's body to leave the head gripping firmly. 

"Sorry!" 

"Sorry!"

"Sorry!"

"Sorry!"

"Sorry!"

At last the worst of the bleeding stopped and Private huddled closer under Skipper's motionless flipper. His team hadn't forgotten them, he was sure of it.

When Kowalski and Rico approached the cries of "Penguin down!", they found their youngest member pressed feather-to-bloody-feather with the leader of them all. 

Private saluted. "Fightin' chance secured, sir!" He burst into tears.

Rico said it first. "Uh oh."

IOIOIOIOIO

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

At the grim sight, Kowalski was mesmerized, dazed, and thirty per cent admiring that this much blood could be lost and his commander still live. "It's like watermelon snow," he murmured.

Rico's resounding slap rocked Kowalski backwards but only kissed Private. "'S _bluuudddd!"_

"Skippa! Wot do we do about Skippa!"

Why, command _was_ easy, after all. A refresher course wouldn't be necessary. "Rico, shut up that bird, I don't care how. Private, you did well." Kowalski looked closer. "You're hurt, too?"

Private was hyper now that he no longer had to be strong alone. "It's nothin'! Wot do we do, oh wot do we _do?"_

"First things first. We get him back to HQ --- oh drat our _temporary_ HQ --- but before that" --- Kowalski got a look that Private had never before seen --- _"who did this?"_

"Sasquatch! She's bleedin' _insane!"_

Rico came back from discussing matters with the bird. He blew away three speckled feathers that stuck to his beak. "Ah-kwatch?"

"She _was_ odd, but I never thought she'd" --- Kowalski triaged his commander with a look --- "Rico, track her. There's no telling what she's capable of and her _mythical_ abilities alone make the blood run cold --- "

Rico crossed his flippers over his chest, spared Skipper a grieving look and growled, "Nuh uh."

It was time for last ditch tactics. "Skipper would want you to."

 _"Irty_ pool, man." The look between the two promised future repercussions. Rico took off in the direction that Private pointed.

Private slid his right flipper all the way into Skipper's pit and looked to Kowalski to do the same. "Righto then, let's yomp."

Kowalski nearly popped his left flipper out of its socket when he rotated it from inside Skipper's opposite pit to support the head as well, but then Private's flipper tip cupped his and they lifted the dead weight jointly. They set off for Åland Zoo.

IOIOIOIOIO

Rico caught up to them when they took a breather by the deserted lorry. The speed of his sliding approach dazzled Kowalski as did the sense of penguin strength and purpose. "Private, stay with Skipper and let me know if anything changes." Private was nearly swooning with weariness and he made no protest as Kowalski gestured Rico to huddle with him some distance away. Like Superbowl 50 gladiators, the two pushed heads together and shared information in subdued voices as they wrapped flippers around each other's shoulders. "Rico, report."

"Awwwww braap."

"Never mind the swearing! No luck tracking her?" Rico put a flipper on his brow and squinted to mime looking hard, sniffed ferociously to show how he had really tried to pick up her scent, produced a masticated pine cone to demonstrate how he'd attempted to taste her trail, and then he shook his head. He looked crushed. At Kowalski's next expression, he looked devastated and his flippers fell to his side.

Kowalski sighed. "It's all right. We've got enough on our hands. She's probably miles away by now. Take Private's place on Skipper's other side. We'll get him back in the zoo, or my name isn't Science Guy." Rico still looked glum. "Come on, big fella. We'll do it together. Private, you're on point. Double time, harch! Hup hup hup hup ---"

Private's exhausted pace dictated their speed until Rico huffed and draped the junior member over one shoulder. With the other flipper, he hauled Skipper and by sliding, waddling and scooting on the icy patches, the four made it back to their habitat.

IOIOIOIOIO

The doorless entry to the HQ made Kowalski appreciate Scandinavian minimalism as never before when he backed down the ramp carrying his share of Skipper. There was a lot of knowledge crammed into Kowalski's cranium and he didn't always need his abacus. "Symptoms?" he asked Private. The brief rest over Rico's shoulder had revitalized the young penguin.

Private rattled off all he knew in a breathless gabble. "He bounced once in mud oh it were tango uniform and then he fell onto flippin' rocks but they were covered in fluffy white snow that turned red and and and when I tried to move him he s-s-said _hurts to breathe ow not the stomach ow not the chest neither don't touch the left side ouch."_

"You got there just in time." They heaved Skipper onto the massage table. "Let's leave him here and not in your bunk so we can all be around him to ease, well, whatever comes next. Um, put his head here and the other end over the face hole, just in case he needs to, you know." Kowalski waxed optimistic. "But there's hope, Private! You say there was pain at deep breaths and in the chest, stomach, and particularly the left side?"

Private nodded because he was beyond words. He placed Skipper's pillow from their bunk underneath his head.

"It's the spleen. It must be. If it's just bruised, he's in luck and so are we. If it's crushed --- then --- then. Eh, onward." He snapped "Medico bag!" to Rico, who obliged. The bag produced tape, bandages, antiseptic ointment, splints and a blue box of Q Tips. Kowalski hurled the Q Tips away with all his strength and the box clattered to the farthest corner of the habitat. "Why are these in here? We don't _have_ ears!"

Rico looked down as if ashamed that he didn't _always_ have control over what came out of his gullet. Skipper's body was soon festooned with Band-Aids covered with pink lunacorns in several collectable poses. "I'll remove the insect jaws since the bleeding has stopped. Brilliant use of survival techniques in the field, Private."

The praise failed to evoke a smile. "He's not movin', K'walski."

"He's totally out of it. It's better this way. Now we wait." Kowalski gestured to Private's soiled front. "Clean yourself, soldier. Don't want him waking up and thinking _you're_ on sick call, too, do you?"

After pushing a shiny tube into Private's limp grasp, he ushered him to the wide bunk that was kitty-corner to his and Rico's and made him sit. "Put this antiseptic ointment on those cuts down there, or do you want me to do it?"

Private squeezed out a ribbon of ointment and rubbed. "I can handle it myself. I've got to, now."

IOIOIOIO

The day passed as slowly as one could expect. Few souls traversed the zoo and Kowalski overheard the penguin feeder talking with Imelda's keeper about hardy and hearty Ålanders heading happily to half-frozen harbors for ice skating on a local holiday.

"Hmmph, go away and stay away, humans. I need all my strength for more important things than looking cute and cuddly," grumped Kowalski. He made Rico and Private eat their allotment of fish alongside him despite none of them having appetites. He made them promise that they all would rest tonight and that holding watch was unnecessary. He hoped to the Sky Spirits that he didn't believe in that he was right about Skipper's options in staying alive.

By nightfall Skipper's breathing turned ragged and he was restless. Kowalski directed them to gather around the massage table to say goodbye, or not. He turned the television to an unused channel to provide staticky, flickering light. If their team were to suffer devastation in the next hour, he didn't want even the pixelated images of humans invading their grief.

It might do some good for Skipper to hear his second's analysis. Even if this day were his final one, he'd know before the end that his team did all they could to save him. Both Doctor Phil and Doctor Oz had stated repeatedly that the sense of hearing was the last to go.

Kowalski began, "Skipper's extra layer of abdominal, um, _muscle_ saved him from further internal damage."

" _F-F-Fatal_ damage?"

"I'm afraid so, Private. We all came very close to losing him at the scene."

Rico whacked his head over and over against their 52-inch television, squawking something even Kowalski couldn't interpret.

Private's beak quivered. "W-Will he recover and be like before?"

"Pssshhh, he's Skipper! He's got to."

_hvrdmmm_

"He's sayin' some real words! Yayyy! We're here for you, Skippa!"

_didligent murgleblattle_

"Wot?"

Kowalski leaned in. "He says --- "

Rico almost cracked the television screen, as if the tension in their habitat weren't Moho Layer deep already. Kowalski exploded.

"Oh, come _on,_ Rico! Now is not the time! And Great Newton's Apple, Private, get a grip!"

_dimmerwort splatfiz hmskl bud nofren bud bee likme hpay wif yhuuu fihive_

Kowalski cleared his throat after swallowing hard. "He says that, that homeschooling is bad because you don't have friends. He s-says to be like him and how happy he is with the five of us." He put his flippers over his face and bowed his head. "Oh, no. I can't stand this! He thinks there are _six_ penguins living in Central Park Zoo!"

"Maybe he's not our Skippa any more, K'walski --- "

Rico crossed his eyes, stuck out his tongue, and smacked Private a good one upside the head. "Nvahhhhh. Manf--- Manfr--- "

"Of course! Silly us. He's countin' in Manfredi and Johnson. Poor Skippa, he always took losin' them so hard ... say somethin' nice to him, I can't talk right now ..."

Kowalski blotted his face dry and leaned down further. "Skipper. Skipper. Hear me. Manfredi and Johnson are _gone._ The tsunami was just too powerful for their pool noodles to be of any use. You did all you could."

Skipper tossed and turned on his hard pillow until his breathing evened out.

_nt hlpn kwoskkii_

Rico put his two cents in. "Lem be." He swept a flipper around Kowalski and led him away to their bunk.

"Tell me if he opens his eyes," Kowalski added over his shoulder, "but we need to let him rest now."

Private hurried his gaze back to his commander. "Skippa, you're goin' to be right as rainbows. Where you are, there'll be Manfredis and Johnsons and lunacorns and monster trucks for a little while until you're ready to come back to us." He pecked Skipper on the cheek. "Rest well. Feel better soon." He trudged away towards his solitary bunk.

He came back. "Sweet dreams."

He walked away again.

He came back again. "Sleep tight, don't let the --- "

"Private, while Skipper is on medical leave I am in command and I order you to go to --- what's that you say, Rico? Move over?"

Private retraced his steps and slipped in between the two. "Thanks, Rico."

It was a long night, not as long as the night when Manfredi and Johnson vanished forever, but close.

IOIOIOIOIO

TBC


	14. Chapter 14

"He- _llo, nurse."_

"Skippa! You're awake!" Private scooted the freshened slop bucket back into place. "He's awake, everyone!"

The morning sun's angle was perfect for ricocheting down the entrance and its ramp to the habitat's interior to illuminate three little penguins' sunbeams of smiles. Skipper said nothing until the babbling died down. "Where is she?"

_"'Kippahh!_ "

"You're safe from her, don't worry --- "

"Rico did everythin' he could to track --- "

_"'Kippahhh!"_

"Where. Is. She."

_"'Kippahhhh!"_

The interim leader said what he had to. "We don't know, sir. Rico did his best, but she got away."

_"¡Ahhhhhh, dolor! ¡Dolor! ¡Ay Dios mío! ¡Ayúdame, María! --- ugh_. Oh. _Oh!_   Umph. Help me up."

"That's contraindicated by the circumstances. You need to rest, sir."

Private's voice trembled. "I thought you were _dyin'_ , Skippa. K'walski says you, you must um, rebuild blood volume, see if your spleen, wotever that is, recovers from the squishin' it got, and regrow your right pinkie claw." He pointed. "See?"

Skipper looked down his body. A sparkly Princess Self-Respectra Band-Aid covered the claw area. He yawned and then wiggled his foot. "Ouch. I'm out of the running, but _you_ all --- "

Kowalski had been prepared for this. "We're out of our element, I don't have my lab, we lack backup like Marlene, Mason, or even Julien, not to mention Fred, and intel is sketchy on what a Sasquatch can do, although we know more _now._ Basic command tenet is to regroup for a few days." He wasn't going to add what he was really thinking, but of course Private did.

"You're in bad shape, Skippa. You need us."

It shocked everyone except Kowalski when they weren't forced to hold Skipper down onto the massage-table-turned-sickbay. "Shupppooooose yr right 'bout thattttt," he slurred. "Caaaan't keeeep awaaaake --- zzz. Zzzzzz."

"Annnnd he's out again." Kowalski touched Skipper's forehead for a moment. "No signs of fever. I'll keep tabs on the general condition, Private, you join Rico topside. Do forty reps each of your favorite exercise and I don't want to hear any gripes." He waited. They froze. "Oh, all right. I'll join you in a few minutes." Private trooped up the ramp, but Rico stayed behind, swinging one foot and looking everywhere but at Kowalski.

"What's on your mind, Rico?"

"'Oooomanz."

"The humans! They'll check up on us if there are only three penguins showing for more than a day or so! Gah! I wasn't thinking! They'll squeeze down the ramp or unhinge the top of this place and _take him away!"_

Rico pulled Kowalski's flippers from the sides of his head. "C'n fix."

"A chainsaw won't fix this! A smoke bomb won't, either!"

Rico turned away to hack something up. He smoothed flat a rolled up plastic object. With a deep sigh, he presented it to Kowalski.

"A blow up lifesized Skipper doll? Where did this come from --- it doesn't have a Zoovenirs label on it --- did you _make_ this?"

Rico got indignant. "Nuh uh! 'iss Perky ordrd --- "

"I don't want to know more. Forget I asked. It's just the thing, Rico. Blow it up down here so nobody else sees."

Rico placed his beak so carefully on the valve at the bottom seam that Kowalski knew this was the result of long practice. He busied himself with tidying their habitat, stealing glances now and then until a matte Skipper got tucked under Rico's flipper. "Gooooood, hah? Hah?"

Kowalski poked tentatively at the doll. "It's good for a while. I calculate that Skipper will be more or less himself again in six and three sixteenths' days. Let's be gentle with the doll so it lasts."

Rico patted the real Skipper's head before he trotted up the ramp. Kowalski centered the pillow underneath the same head as he mumbled, "I just don't know about Rico sometimes, Skipper."

Skipper made no comment.

IOIOIOIOIO

Two days past the beginning of Operation: Recovery From Private's First March, Rico, Private, and Kowalski got more inventive with their Skipper dolly. Scores of children and sometimes their carers gathered to see penguin volleyball, penguin ice hockey, penguin lacrosse, and penguin synchronized swimming. Faux Skipper withstood a lot of abuse and needed only intermittent blowing up by Rico to refresh his roly-poly shape. If the three were taking out their frustrations by hitting Faux Skipper a _little_ too hard when he played goalie at hockey or lacrosse, no human noticed it. Faux Skipper was a dream at synchronized swimming and whenever he 'stood' atop their three-penguin support column, his smile never faltered.

One little boy and his parents cheered especially for the lacrosse scrum when it got out of hand and Faux Skipper was trampled almost to the point of popping. Only Imelda ever saw them use Faux Skipper as the ball when they played after-hours soccer one night, and she knew how to keep a secret.

IOIOIOIOIO

"Wot do you think, K'walski, does Skippa's insomnia problem seem beat, then?" The injured penguin lay insensate for hours on end in the daytime. When he awakened for brief times in the dead flatness of midnight or beyond, bleary eyes saw to his needs, cracked voices mumbled reassurances, and mornings always came too soon.

"He's like a hatchling who mixes up the days and nights. I don't even know if I'm hungry or not." Kowalski poked disconsolately at his mackerel. "I'm wasted, how about you?"

Private downed his portion with gusto. "No, never better."

"Ah, youth." Kowalski nearly nodded off over his meal and when Skipper awakened a little afterwards, he gestured to Rico. "Feeding time at the zoo, big fella."

Rico jumped onto the massage table to stand over Skipper.

"Open wide, sir. Here comes brunch," the second in command said around a yawn.

Rico looked eager as he always did to do his part. His stomach rippled.

"Not happening. I'm through being a baby ever again. Twice per existence is enough." Skipper clamped his beak shut.

Kowalski's mood was cranky, _too_. "Oh, come _on_. You need food to regain strength. It was all right the times before, why not now? Cooperate here, Skipper."

"No no no!" Skipper's point of not being a baby was blunted by petulance.

Even Kowalski's nurturing instinct had its limits. He was about to order a completely unacceptable display of insubordinate force when inspiration struck. "Oh, _Skip-_ per, Kitka would feed you another way. Don't you want to find out _her_ method? _Kit-ka_ , Skipper, _Kittt-kaaa -_ \--"

" _Mmmmm_ , Kitka, I can taste her kisses now --- on third thought, no. I'm not hungry."

Private broke in. "Skippa, deep down you know we're right. Give K'walski's idea a go, what say?"

Rico saw which way the wind was blowing and re-swallowed his gutful of mashed fish. "Wha ya gonna do," he said to Kowalski, and this time the expression wasn't accompanied by a shrug. He really wanted to know.

Kowalski's brain went into high gear. He took his own unfinished portion of fish and peeled healthy Omega-3 bits from the unprotesting mackerel, selecting only the choicest portions of rib and back to lay in a row. "You're not ready for full meals, Skipper, just take hatchling steps getting back to normal, that's what Imelda said to do, only she said cub steps. If Kitka had hatchlings, this is the way she would have fed them" --- he stopped, aghast --- "not that I'm suggesting she's your baby mama, er, oh never --- "

"There's that imagination again, Kowalski. We talked about this." Yet Skipper submitted when Kowalski pushed the tenders down his throat and their eyes met in a rare moment of parity between Command and Science Divisions. Skipper fell asleep again after a few bites, but it was better than nothing. The three wouldn't have admitted to needing a break from caregiving as they swam away some tension and chose only one layout spot for them all in the weak sunshine.

"Little meals and often, Imelda says. I'm on it, I'm on it, Imelda." Kowalski rubbed his neck. "Or it's on me."

Rico didn't need prompting to take up the massage. He kneaded until Kowalski yipped. "Sowwy."

"I'm thinkin' he's a challenge to care for any road, gents." Private indulged in a rare criticism.

"Wurfit."

"Goes without sayin', Rico. I just mean it's so hard."

Kowalski rolled over and motioned to his back. Rico took the right side and Private the left. Karate chops stuttered over muscles until Kowalski felt himself driven into the consistency of overcooked pasta. It was most agreeable. "Back to business," he said after a time.

"I'll check on him, shall I, no, you two old-timers keep layin' about like layabouts, that's all right --- " Private giggled as he slid backwards into the water. There was nothing handy to throw at him.

"Youf."

"Right, Rico. Youth. He was outstanding at Kastelholm, though."

"Aw grown up." Rico massaged some more.

"Not-used-to-think-ing-that-a-bout-him. U-sing pe-triss-age? That's-a-new-tech-nique-for-you-uh-uh-oh-yeah-oh-yeah. Now scissoring. Ahem. Yes. And we finish with effleurage, oh that's superb." Kowalski would have rolled his shoulders, but he didn't want to move. "You ought to have been at the massage station at Hoboken Zoo. You're really awesome at this."

Rico's laugh rumbled against Kowalski's back as he slapped the muscular planes of penguin flesh and stood up. "Lesgo."

IOIOIOIOIO

TBC

 


	15. Chapter 15

Two days later at evening Entertain The Invalid time, Kowalski followed Private's knock-knock joke with a shaggy dog story about a miniature golf foursome. In the wavering light from their 52-inch television set to an unused channel, he wove the tale of glass eyes, wooden legs, bone china doorknockers, antimacassars, and Super Glue into a saga and deliberately made his voice sing-song in a rising and falling wave like a series of breakers caressing Wailea Beach. He evaded the punchline of "I stayed two under par, but for the last five holes, it was hit the ball, _drag_ Ethel, hit the ball, _drag_ Ethel." Routine Number Seven: Bore To Pieces succeeded and Skipper began to nod sleepily when discomfort passed over his face. He blinked as if waking from a disturbing dream.

Rico leaped up from his sprawl on the floor. "Want 'op buckt, 'Kippaahh?"

"No, I'm finished needing that. Just help me in there." Private opened the door to the latrine and Rico steadied Skipper in a slow shuffle forward. "Thanks, men. Group hug?" 

There was never seen such a flutter of penguin activity in either the Central Park Zoo or the Åland Zoo, but Kowalski stuck out both flippers like a New York Rangers blueliner and blocked Skipper from the pressure of an embrace from Rico and Private. "Better not. Bad idea." He could have sworn that his commanding officer teared up.

"You're always thinking of my good, soldier." The door to the latrine closed behind Skipper.

Private completed the group hug. "Yaayyyyy, Skippa's better!" 

Rico's joyous **_"FIIIIIIISH!"_** came from nowhere as it always did when he was extra happy. He scooped Private and Kowalski into the air and squeezed hard. 

After a grin that nearly cracked his beak, Kowalski got his feet back on the ground literally and figuratively. He frowned. "Our commander's not himself yet psychologically. It's taking longer than I calculated it would."

"Go with the flow, K'walski, and stop speculatin'," murmured Private. "Be happy he's alive."

"I mean it. Did a group hug _sound_ like Skipper?"

Rico made mountain shapes with his flippers and hooted foghorn noises. The mournful sounds penetrated the latrine to a "What was _that?"_ from Skipper.

"Never mind, practicing a new joke, let us know when you're done," hollered back Kowalski.

"Keep it down, everyone, Rico's right," Private whispered to the others. "It's natural that Skippa be a _little_ changed after nearly divin' into the Eternally Foggy Sea surroundin' the Endless Iceberg." He patted Rico on the shoulder and saw the worried frown turn upside down. "We should not think about it any more." There was a moment of silence as they all thought about it some more. 

Private acted as morale officer, as usual. "Hang on, hang on, telly! Everythin's better with telly. Let's see wot's scheduled." 

Kowalski took a turn helping Skipper back to the massage-table-turned-sickbed as Private flipped the remote to Rico. Skipper clutched a ratty shawl about his shoulders and allowed his team to plump around him cold-weather nightwear left over from the zoo's Sleepover For Successful Second-Graders lost and found bin. Soon he nestled like a pasha perched on plushy, patterned pillows amid his harem. He smoothed his Snuggie over his belly. "Isn't this downtime nice, team? It's nice. I like it," Skipper said in his new quavery invalid's voice. "Let's watch a nice program on TV."

Rico's worry face returned. He punched the remote. When Skipper got a sublime look at the classical music channel, Kowalski stepped in.

"Give me that."

"Nuh uh." Rico kept punching different channels. One after another program displayed from the British feed flicked by with titles such as _Bird Watching Extravaganza, Advanced Basket Weaving, Toddlers Tickle Theatre,_ and _Painting-by-Numbers for Dummies_ , each to a benign smile from his leader. At last, _Nature: Red In Tooth And Claw Hour_ popped up and he settled in at Skipper's feet to watch. A Cape buffalo cow turned the tables on an attacking lioness with a savage charge of black horns and the screen filled with bellows and roars far over 100 decibels.

Skipper drew one flipper over his eyes and turned away. "Not listening, la dee dee dooo tra la la, find something else."

Kowalski grabbed the remote from Rico. "Hatchling steps, I _told_ you." He surfed the channels like the deft aquatic bird he was. "Here." _The BBC News: Polite Version_ came on. "You can look now, Skipper." Skipper seemed absorbed in the new feathers coming in near his wounds. He rubbed at the tiny white nubs dappling the regrowing skin. "Skipper?"

"Huh?"

"I never thought I'd say these words: Skipper, focus. You're drifting."

There was no alarm in the quavery voice, and that in itself was alarming. "That's a bad thing? You all wanted to stop and smell the blåklocka. I am." Again the bland smile. Skipper used to hate smiling. Kowalski wanted the smile back again when it was replaced with a small frown. "I _am_ remembering that right, right? Now and then things get fuzzy." The smile returned. "It probably doesn't matter. Whose turn is it to preen me before bedtime?"

"Mine!"

"Aye!"

 _"No! It's mi_ -um. Eh, I'm on for tomorrow, if you're still not up to the task." Kowalski checked Skipper's forehead for the umpteenth time in five days. "Sure you're not feeling hot?"

"Nah. You worry too much, compadre. Watch TV and relax like me." The group settled in like two sets of Netflix couples: Skipper easing towards sleepy-bye time, Rico likewise, Private alert as if he were taking mental notes on the news, and Kowalski checking Skipper's pulse without letting him know.

The newscaster was nothing like Chuck Charles or Bonnie Chang. She wore spectacles, she dressed her ginger hair in a practical bowl cut, and she was pushing sixty from the wrong direction. "This is Gavina Formes reporting Polite News As It Transpires. Trouble in the Balkans again, trouble in the Mideast again, trouble in the Falklands again. See these and other stories on our main BBC feed. For nearby news that won't give you dyspepsia, let's turn to our European overview. France has placed an escalating tax on cheeses depending on their smelliness. Connoiseurs of fragrant comestibles are concerned. Liechtenstein has entered the competition for hosting future Olympics, although whether in the Summer or Winter Games is unknown. Everyone agrees that Liechtenstein is long overdue for international attention and the BBC wishes the tiny land the very best of luck. Turning northward, this just in: Iceland joins Svalbard in reporting sightings of _Antarctic_ ice worms in _Arctic_ environments."

Gavina leaned forward, tapping her notes against the table. She displayed agitation, although it was hard to tell. "These large ice worms show signs of catastrophic tampering with their genome by global warming, oil spills, or _worse_. There are no live captures of these iceberg creatures as yet and eyewitness reports lack reliable photographic evidence. One YouTube upload was found to be an ordinary leech filmed against a mockup of a miniaturized human great toe. One moment." She leaned to one side. "Who wrote this?"

Skipper stirred out of his somnolence. "Worms? On icebergs?"

"You remember, Skipper. Ice worms live on ice and humans only discovered them a little over a century ago." Kowalski puffed his feathers out pridefully, thinking that Skipper would do the same. _"We've_ known about them forever, of course." He couldn't figure out Skipper's mood lately and it bothered him when his leader didn't join in with "Stupid mammals!" Could the brush with death have affected the mind as well as the body? He remained uncertain with Skipper's next words.

"I'm --- there's something I'm forgetting --- oh never mind. It's probably not important. I like her style, boys, but she needs someone to banter with, don't you all think so?" Skipper hummed _Everybody Loves Somebody Sometime_ off-key until they shushed him.

IOIOIOIOIO

TBC

 


	16. Chapter 16

Gavina had a bee in her bonnet about the ice worm story or so Private suspected when she threw in Latin names of animals he had never heard of. He perked up when the studio setting changed to a fishing boat in rough seas.

  
"We shift now to our man in dangerous places, Sven S. C. Formes, no relation. Sven, you are on the hunt for the elusive ice worm otherwise known as Mesenchytraeus solifugus. Is that possibly an invasive species to Svalbard? What are your conditions out there in the land of the Vikings?"

  
Private knew a flirt when he saw one. The large blond who could have been Rico in human form smoothed his mohawk before replacing his knit cap. "Gavina, my dove, let me illumine you. The water is choppy at first light, the storm is lowr'ing, and the ice worms we search for bear only the slightest resemblance to Mesenchytraeus solifugus. They are said to live on ice like Mesenchytraeus solifugus, but on icebergs and not glaciers. They are ginormous, and you may quote me, in comparison. One report from a crab harvester right before she was lost overboard said that a 30 footer entangled itself around her net and when the net was winched up, the worm attacked her with a spiny barb like a nemertean's."

  
Kowalski had been paying rapt attention to the scientific discourse, but then he returned to his slouch beside Private as the three lounged on the floor at Skipper's feet. "A ... nemertean. It figures."

"Wot's a --- "

"Later, Private! I want to hear this." Skipper pulled the Snuggie hood off his head. The massage table creaked as he shifted his weight and a maroon pillow fell to the floor. When Rico replaced it at his back, he nodded absently and remained enthralled by the adventure onscreen.

"Sven, Mesenchytraeus solifugus may be affected by global warming, oil spills, or sunspots, and grown to larger size in these algae rich Arctic waters, don't you agree?"

Sven clutched the icy railing and widened his stance to a true mariner's pose. The boat plunged into a trough. "Gavina, I respect your expertise, but no, I don't think so. Mesenchytraeus solifugus feeds on watermelon snow's algae and this beast was after the crab harvester's catch and possibly the harvester, too. The description that the surviving harvester gave second-hand resembled Lineus longissimus and at that, it would be a smaller example of the longest nemertean ever found."

Gavina's gasp was audible to Sven and any viewers. "Over 170 feet long. Sven, that's worth a dunking into the Arctic Ocean."

Private could tell that Gavina was trying to come up with something more tame to chat about but before she could say anything, Sven spouted what sounded to him like a very large excursion into Peanut Butter Winkie Land. "Gavina, I believe this to be a mutant form of the Antarctic species Plectus murrayi. Think about it! The iceberg we're approaching shows noticeable shrinkage from its last measurement from Greenpeace. Plectus murrayi contains natural antifreeze that it uses to slither around _inside_ ice and _break it up --- "_

Sven disappeared beneath a wave that had just crashed over the bow. He reappeared a second later, clinging to the rail with both hands. The cameraman must have been made of sturdy seaman stock, too, because the camera jiggled wildly but was not dropped or lost overboard. Some settings were jostled, though, and the perspective zoomed onto the far shore directly opposite the iceberg.

Gavina managed some blander material. "Sven, a little background, please. Tell us how far from shore you are and what species of small shrubs we're seeing lining the beach."

"Those are old growth pine trees, Gavina."

"Ahah. I see. And it took how long to reach your current bearing?"

"Twenty minutes."

"Really?"

"An hour."

The cameraman pulled back the shot to refocus on the iceberg that was still some distance away. The roar of the ocean made Private a little nostalgic for the freedom of the open seas. He squirmed away from his friends and looked over his shoulder at Skipper.

Their leader looked more himself than since the dreadful defeat by Sasquatch. One flipper clenched over his ravaged chest, true, but the other tapped against Princess Self-Respectra's protective Band-Aid on his pinkie claw. Before Private could stop him, Skipper yanked off the Band-Aid and tossed it behind him. Skipper didn't even glance at the recovering foot but continued to be enthralled by the scenes before him.

Gavina gamely continued the small talk. "Any chance of the storm worsening, Sven?"

"None."

"Really?"

"Some."

The boat shuddered bow to stern. "Keep her headed into the waves, man! You're taking on too much water!" Sven roared. The captain of the boat screamed back something in Norwegian but Sven was too much the professional to change from English. Private recalled that Scandinavian nations tutored their students in English at an early age, anyway. Some naughty words followed that were evident in any language. Sven aimed a free hand back at the captain and the cameraman blurred the gesture.

Another wave doused the science reporter. The cameraman's microphone picked up a frantic communication from the beleaguered captain. "Well, it isn't good enough!" Sven spluttered in reply. "Goose that motor up! We're not making headway into this wind! Rævhål. Sorry, Gavina." The feed returned to the studio.

Gavina pulled her dickey away from her throat to give herself breathing room. She appeared to be having a case of the vapors as she forswore politeness. "No, no, Sven, this is thrilling! Please continue!"

The sketchy transmission frazzled on. "Anything for you and Science, darling, allow me to --- stop fooling around and pay attention to what you're doing!" The knit cap had long since been swept off to leave Sven's mohawk a drenched mess atop his buzz cut. The scene abruptly faded to audio only.

Rico had been mirroring Sven's actions in sympathy. When the location shot finally fizzled for good, he sank back. "Awwwww. Whun els on?"

"Leave it." Skipper's voice sounded stronger. "Let's hear the rest."

Gavina whisked what looked like a shot glass out of camera range. "I apologize to viewers who expected Polite News. Obviously, Sven was under much stress. But to continue his interesting theory, Plectus murrayi is an astounding Antarctic nematode that exudes naturally produced antifreeze. A nematode is a worm in general parlance, gentle viewers, and Plectus murrayi in titanic form in Arctic seas could pose as yet undisclosed dangers to our fragile world." She brightened. "Polite News will keep you informed, or we may hand off the story to BBC Regular News. Let's hope we won't need to. And now the weather --- "

Private seized the remote to mute the sound. "Wot's a nemertean?"

Kowalski's voice got that do-I-have-to-explain-this dry quality that annoyed his teammates. "Nemerteans are marine worms of incredible length, the longest animal in the world. They shoot out a venomous barb to kill prey. The species can stretch up to ten times their resting length, reduce their length by 50 per cent and increase width by 300 per cent. They are awesome!"

Private considered. "Funny name."

"There's something you're not telling us, Kowalski. Spill it." Skipper evinced interest in the subject as he had not in much of anything lately except getting through each day with as little pain as possible. Kowalski felt compelled to continue no matter the cost.

"Nemerteans are named for Nemertes, a sea nymph from Greek mythology."

"And?" Skipper's voice got that tough note that Kowalski hadn't heard in recent days.

"Nemertes was a daughter of an ancient sea deity called Nereus and Doris, the goddess of the bounty of the sea. I'll say it first: my Doris is generous with her bounty, too, witness to Parker, Joaquin, Sheiji, Ed, Pete, Wayan, me, and the rest. She is just made that way, all right? In one of the family entanglement stories that imply the ancient Greeks had bats in their Corinthian columns, Doris' son Nerites became enamored of his boss Poseidon and vice versa and had a baby by him --- Rico, wipe that smile off your beak, this is scientifically _impossible --_ \- and Doris' grandson was named Anteros, the spirit of reciprocated love. I am aware of the exquisite irony, thank you."

"I'm sorry I asked, mi amigo."

Private dropped the remote in the silence that followed and the mute button got unclicked.

"--- and now for news about royals."

"Yayyy!" Private chorused. "Royals! I love royals! Smashin' change of subject, BBC!"

Gavina's expression could be termed starry-eyed. "The King of Sweden announced a visit to the Åland Islands Zoo in the next few days to encounter the amazing sasquatch's opening day of display. Despite her eventual transfer to Helsinki, the zoo took advantage of the refurbishing of their moose habitat to place her in an outdoor spot for popular viewing. Take a look at smuggled footage of the fascinating creature as she acquaints herself with the building materials provided for her play."

Sasquatch squatted on scaffolding left behind for her amusement. She tipped over the ladder abutting the scaffolding as if to say she needed no such help to climb up, or out. Then she munched an apple while staring directly at the sneaky observer's cameraphone.

Gavina chattered on. "His Majesty Carl XVI Gustaf will also delight in the zoo's A.A.R.P. transfers, four penguins who have charmed crowds for close to two weeks. Safe travel to you, Your Highness. And we conclude Polite News, good manners to you all."

Later on, Private could have sworn there was a crack of lightning demolishing the quietude of the clear sky that night because he could smell ozone as the command power dynamic switched polarity to what it should always be. Kowalski nodded with the grace that he sometimes displayed and Rico did a backflip. "Right as rainbows," Private said quietly.

"Kowalski, options?" Skipper inquired.

IOIOIOIOIO

TBC


	17. Chapter 17

"I may not be 100 per cent yet, but I know we've got to do something about Sasquatch." Authority surged back into its old vessel and three heads turned as one to listen to what Skipper had to say. "The King of Sweden may be in danger. We have a few days to come up with a strategy. I ought to be more down the road to recovery by then."

Kowalski had been thinking without his abacus _or_ his clipboard. "We were so invested in your care that we neglected to follow zoo gossip. My apologies, Skipper."

"Huh? Oh, sure. Prioritizing is part of leadership and we never leave a man down without help _ever_. Even Rockgut wouldn't have done anything different." Skipper's regained bright edge dimmed and for a moment he reminded Kowalski of the awful time when his own intelligence drained away. He still had nightmares about how hard it had been to follow the line. "There's something --- I --- I --- need to think about the worms, the, the Messy subterfuge and the Longing linus kinds --- it's bugging me --- it's a hazy feeling like when I lost my marbles --- damn that Blowhole and his mind zapper."

Seeing his commander struggle to focus, Kowalski filled his role as lieutenant. "Sir, getting back on track, options are gather more intel on how she got out of the zoo and then back in without the humans interfering. Another option is to build a support system of at least one other animal. A third option is to guard against telepathy. I suggest Rico hack up tinfoil for hats or we could scrounge through the garbage --- "

 ** _"What?"_**   Skipper massaged his chest. "Ow. I mean, what? Where is this coming from?"

 _"Mythologically,_ she has telepathic communicating abilities with definitely other sasquatches, possibly animals and likely suggestible humans. That part is proven fact."

"Fact or myth, soldier?" Skipper honed in on the conundrum.

"Since she proves the myth truthful by existing, we need to be aware of all her capabilities. Sasquatches are said to move stealthily on big sneaky feet and leave no trace --- "

"Ahuh!" Rico emphasized.

"--- sense humans enough to stay hidden --- "

"Maybe." Skipper looked thoughtful.

"--- and emit tiny pulses of EMR to keep fleas from their fur," Kowalski finished.

"Private, you and I got up close and personal with her. I didn't see fleas, did you?"

"No, Skippa." Private looked unhappy. "Wot I saw was that I gave her plenty of chances to _try_ to kill me and she went straight for you every time. She's a right stinkin' _assassin."_ He turned as steely as when he dared propose a mission to stop Kuchikukan Destroyer of Worlds. "She wants you well she can't bloody have you. You're mine, I mean ours."

Skipper had been drifting once more. "What's that you say, boy ... Hugo ... I'm thinking and it's _exhausting ._.. it must be Hugo who helps her with escapes and reentries." The clouds seemed to part for their leader. "He's got the treachery of an oldster and years of slyness, just like your Uncle Nigel."

"My Uncle Nigel is _not_ a connivin' penguin!" Private looked wounded.

Kowalski coughed and Rico played with the pillows at Skipper's back but Skipper continued anyway. "You're saying that even though he didn't tell his own nephew about being an agent hunting the Red Squirrel for _decades_ at a time?"

Private faced Skipper square on. "He didn't do anythin' wrong to me. Everyone needs private thoughts, Skippa. Private thoughts are, are _private."_

"Yes, Private. And now we move on. You know who else is moving on?"

Private crossed his flippers over his chest. "I wouldn't know, I'm _sure."_

"Me. I'm moving off that _bleedin'_ massage table and back into our bunk. I'm tired. We pick this up tomorrow morning. Good start, gentlemen."

IOIOIOIOIO

IOIOIOIOIO

"I did what you commissioned me for. I belong to the mountains. I'm waiting for my ticket out of here, Blowhole, and it better come _soon._ It ought to be easier for you now that I'm free of the suffocating primate house."

"You'll get what I promised you. I have resources. Just wait a little more."

Sasquatch keened, "My kind have waited _centuries_ for proper treatment!" Despite her earlier statement, she stayed within range of the space heater next to the plug for the moose stable's just-installed 52-inch television. She regained a sullen look after her outburst and glared at the two-way communication hub that was supposed to _stimulate_ her mind without being hijacked by a deranged dolphin. Åland zoo officials were as tender with her mental state as they were with the A.A.R.P. transferees.

There was only crackling and hissing from the hacked television. Moments later, a garbled mess of words penetrated the stable that used to shelter Åland moose from extreme weather. "--- Blue Five, cease waving your claws in macho display --- no female minions to fight over, I made sure of _that_ \--- push what button, now? --- come here --- "

A clacking sound was followed by a series of _ching-wheeps. "_ Boss, I'm overriding your input --- "

 _"Nobody_ is allowed to --- "

"There. And you're welcome."

The screen now showed a glowing red eye pulsing in a gray-on-black image of the dolphin criminal mastermind. "I figured it out, Sasquatch, no thanks to my _goons._ Continue. I can't wait to hear the whole story."

"He didn't scream as he fell."

"Way to go, Skipper! I always knew you had it in you, but I guess it's splattered over the forest floor now."

Disgust flavored Sasquatch's next words. "You didn't say they never swim alone. The littlest one was with him. He could have tipped the balance in the penguins' favor. It's faulty briefing, Blowhole. You need to watch that."

"Take a number, assassin. Don't forget who made you."

"And who'll _unmake_ me?"

 _"I_ will, but it won't be in this lorry. You'll get through with the King of Sweden shenanigans and we'll spring you on the voyage to Helsinki. Wait for my signal. I'll be the one in the water."

Sasquatch's contralto turned sulky. "What if they fly me out?"

"Um, that would be the _cost-conscious_ Finns?"

"Point taken. We agree on _something_ at last."

Eye-rolling was really more effective with two eyes. "Uh-huh, yeah, well, you keep thinking that. Accomplices need to."

Sasquatch bristled every bit of fur on her six-foot tall body. "Only until we get to Nepal and I _don't_ want to be called your _accomplice --- "_

"You'll get back to your herd. I promised, didn't I? You've done a good job for The Cause."

Sasquatch resembled Hugo more than she knew. Her mood and her fur settled back down and a solemn, wise look came over her. "I'm only part of your big picture, but you _need_ me to keep clear of Helsinki's scientists and their DNA testing."

"It'll happen, it'll happen. Don't get your yoffa hot."

She put her hands on her hips but only her sagittal crest's fur rose angrily. "What does that even _mean?_ Now you're just making words up."

"There's nothing I'd rather do than chat with you, Sasquatch, but I gotta move the lorry. Even Ålander police get the wind up when a vehicle with privacy glass in the cab doesn't move after three days. Nice job painting the crying little human girl on the side, by the way. That wouldn't be you in spirit, would it? Never mind, spare me the sob story. 'Bye, Sasquatch. You've made me ditch my motto of _never trust anybody with thumbs_ by taking out Skipper."

Sasquatch gloated, "It _was_ a hard-won victory. Hugo said so. _He's_ my friend."

"Yeah, whatever. Ciao."

The screen went blank except for that weird little dot that persisted. Sasquatch hunkered down over her monkey chow methodically as the evening wind from the Gulf of Bothnia swept through the stable. She nibbled a fruit dessert, but only got enthused over the moose's hay leftovers in the manger. With a growl, she eased fluidly down into a lotus position.

"Hugo. The plan is working out. I'm available if you want to chat." The heater hummed as its coils sent pulses of heat. "Hugo?"

No one could have overheard their conversation, but any observer could have seen Sasquatch's tension leave her hunched shoulders. She smiled, nodded, and grimaced over what was being communicated. At the end, she grew solemn and made three passes over her forehead. "Goodnight, my friend. Your help saved me from unspeakable contact with the humans." The normally sad expression returned to her deep-set eyes.

She curled around the space heater just far enough away not to singe her fur. The wind whistled around the outside scaffolding as if through an ice cave's dripping stalactites.

"Soon, my own, soon," she crooned to herself and settled into sleep with the imagined vision of the littlest penguin's grief replaying in her tired mind.

IOIOIOIOIO

TBC


	18. Chapter 18

"Lean over and let me preen you."

"Ouch. Still hurts to bend."

"That's why you're getting this done by me. Think nothing of it, you'd do the same for any of us. Come on, hurry up, I thought of some more options for the power breakfast meeting when I woke up this morning. Hold still. Penguins have more feathers per square inch than any bird on earth. You need to stay waterproof, sir."

"Thought you said I shouldn't swim for another week." Skipper closed his eyes at the soothing feel of feathers sliding through Kowalski's oiled up beak.

Kowalski moved far forward to start in on the neck next. " _Mrf ra_ \--- rain 'n snow stl bud --- _sssssslllppp_ \--- tilt your head back --- _grpthmbleehh_ \--- "

"You missed a spot, K'walski."

Kowalski spat out a black feather. "Primer coat first, Private, then final coat and touch up."

"Oh."

Skipper was dazed with pleasure after Kowalski declared him preened to his exacting standards and fit for light duty. He slid down a herring or three in a smaller than normal breakfast for him. After Rico stashed the Snuggie and pillows next to Faux Skipper in a far corner, the genuine Skipper returned to sitting on the massage table to conduct the meeting. The relaxed smile disappeared.

"Kowalski, mi viejo amigo, options? And _don't_ say tinfoil hats."

"No, I've recalculated that mammal-to-mammal telepathy is the most logical sort she'd have. Mammal-to-bird is just nuts. Let's start with motivations. Bluntly put, Skipper, Sasquatch wants to kill you and you alone."

"But why, why?" whined Private like a hatchling when he knew he wasn't and the others knew he wasn't.

"Sometimes animals do things and they don't know why themselves. She doesn't have to explain herself to us. We only need to be on guard from her. She could be acting on her own to be perverse or be part of a greater plan." Kowalski straightened up to his full height and for a moment looked stately. "What we _do_ know is that Skipper and all of us would have helped her with any problem and _this_ " --- he pointed to Skipper's Lunacorn Band-Aids --- "is what she did. None of us are to blame. We stand guard and we _don't_ let her hurt any of us ever again."

Private was no longer certain that the _her_ was Sasquatch. Rico seemed to think so, too. "Eh buddy, ledid go."

"What are you talking about? I'm listing options as ordered --- "

Skipper cut in. "So, teambuilding next? Who's able to risk life and limb as our ally?"

"Imelda is the logical choice. She's distracted by her attempts to lose weight, but I think she could be lookout or even muscle."

"Losin' weight?"

"She _says_ she's down to almost five hundred."

"Ah, females and their body issues. A spare tire never bothered _me."_ Skipper patted his front gingerly. Rico massaged his own King Crush Monster Truck spare tire.

Private and Kowalski eyed each other and shrugged at the change in Skipper's attitude.  "It saved your life, sir."

"Damn skippy. Okay then, a polar bear's good in a fight. She's the only ally we need. You secure that, Kowalski, she's been chitchatting with you all along. We find out ol' King Carl's timetable, mount surveillance and prepare to take down a sasquatch."

"If necessary. First is your protection, sir."

"Patton's fireballs, _I'm_ just a common penguin. _He's_ a king. I've heard good things about him."

The two locked horns. "Mission objective is protect you first, then the king. _Of humans."_

"Don't make me pull rank after that _delightful_ preening, soldier."

Kowalski sidestepped the bull's follow up charge. "Feel up to making a public appearance for practice, Skipper?"

As answer, Skipper put on his brave face and peeled a Prince Sharesalot Band-Aid from his breastbone. "Well, hey now, the easy-off kind." Soon he sat before his team showing his entire front in varying stages of healing. Short new white feathers studded creamy, healthy looking skin with small islands of recovering pinkish flesh as reminders of near tragedy. Only close observation revealed the left side puffier than the right. "Present for inspection, Lieutenant Kowalski, _sir."_

Kowalski _sometimes_ knew when to shut up. He peered, poked, and prodded gently. He looked up the nostrils and down the throat. He sat the recovering foot on his flipper and tapped the knee for a jerk reflex. He moved on from 'mmhmmms' and 'ahhhhhs' to ask embarrassing questions which Skipper answered promptly. "No sliding for another two weeks," Kowalski said at last. "We'll smile and wave today and let Private stage a Slippy-type fall into the water."

"Awwww, nuts. All that walking won't be good for my pinkie toe, right?"

"You can't get away from these options, Skipper. Science won't let you. **_No sliding."_**

Skipper shrugged. "Worth a try. My iron-clad constitution wins again, men! Up high!"

Private remembered how blood stains turn to a rusty iron color and didn't join in.

"He got a fighting chance from _you_ , Private," Kowalski said later at topside.

Faux Skipper didn't mind them retiring him whatsoever.

IOIOIOIOIO

After mild calisthenics that Skipper watched from the sidelines and critiqued unmercifully, the day passed with a Sunday picnic-like atmosphere under humid skies with no wind to chill convalescing penguins. Something was happening on the far side of the zoo past the visual barrier of Imelda's habitat and she supplied commentary hollered throughout the afternoon.

"That'th the THECOND thet of bleacherth, penguinth, LOOKTH LIKE bunting going up --- wait, now there'th a BANNER, I can't read, can YOU?"

"No can do, Imelda!" Kowalski calculated the precise spot to stand for optimal acoustics and backed up three steps. "What is Sasquatch doing?"

There was a big splash as Private distracted any onlookers from noticing one penguin facing a wall and making contact with a predator of seals and by extension penguins, if they lived in the Arctic. Skipper made penguin noises and Rico flapped his flippers in fruitless 'flying' before engaging their leader in a pseudo-battle for beach territory. The two chased one another around the island until Skipper sat down suddenly. Rico backed off and did a buck-and-wing for the crowd followed by tail-waggling at the camera of some news team. Skipper retreated to their inner habitat and mumbled "I'm okay" to Rico's anxious question.

Some moments passed before Kowalski got his reply from Imelda. "I got UP on my ROCKTH but couldn't THEE her. Thtaying outdoorth much LONGER?"

"I think not, Imelda! I'll keep you posted about what we need you for!"

"I'm getting in THAPE for whatever you GUYTH want me to do! THANKTH for the INTHPIRATHION!" Although the stone barrier between them was two feet thick, Kowalski could hear Imelda sharpening her claws on it.  He shivered.

"Bye now!" Leaving Rico and Private to entertain the crowd that was slowly making its way towards the exits, Kowalski hurried down the ramp to find Skipper sitting on the floor watching TV. He was shushed from any fussing when Skipper pointed to the set.

"New York City live feed. It's morning commute time there. Watch."

Chuck Charles chivied Bonnie Chang about her new 'do until she came up with something likely unscripted and inquired who did his eye tuck. The two leaned away from each other until a commercial cut in. Skipper muted the spiel on cheaper renters' insurance.

"I won't say I told you so."

"Shut up, Kowalski. I didn't slide. I needed a breather."

"I'd _like_ to give you a time out."

"Not in _this_ lifetime, bucko. No, seriously, I rested better after getting back into my own bunk last night. Private sleeps like a log."

Kowalski made a face. "Rico doesn't. We've come to an agreement, though. I don't tell him who he's talked about in his sleep and he stays as far from me as possible. Works for us."

Rico and Private raced each other down the ramp but before they could mother hen him, Skipper unmuted the TV. "Intel incoming."

"Bonnie, what's up with Central Park Zoo's guest residents? Are they acclimating to the Big Apple?"

"Chuck, arctic foxes are known for their versatile diet and winning ways. They're performing like troupers, fluffing out those _adorable_ tails and play-biting and scrambling for snacks. I've visited many times off-duty to take Apple Live Photos."

"You tech-head, you." Their squabble forgotten, they erupted in genuine-sounding TV reporter chuckles, never a full-out belly laugh or guffaw but implying amusement sincerely enough. There followed footage of white fluffy mammals bouncing around the penguins' familiar home island, leaping with all four paws together and landing the same way as if to capture non-existent mice in the snow.

"No explosions? No escapes? No unexpected meteor strikes?" Skipper mourned. "I'm unimpressed. Somehow I expected more from foxes."

"Chuck, let's peek in on our beloved penguins all the way up in Åland Zoo." The row of penguins sitting on the floor alternately admired, decried, and hooted at their own images on footage taken that very afternoon, Åland time.

"Bonnie, does one of the penguins look peaked to you?" Chuck frowned. "What are the zoo keepers thinking? This calls for investigation right away. We New Yorkers won't sit still for any mistreatment. I have connections ---"

All four penguins gasped.

"Kowalski, getting me up topside was _your_ idea --- "

 _"_ _Heebletteejibber ---_ " Kowalski hyperventilated.

"Oh, _Chuck,_ what a worrywart, my heavens. One of them is just moulting early, that's all. Remember last moulting season when the tallest one showed a birthmark on his neck and you swore it was a tattoo of a dolphin? You ought to write funny animal stories professionally, I swear to goodness."

"Ha ha ha, Bonnie. You know me too well. What's it been, seven years?"

"Coming up on it. I don't have a seven-year itch yet, though, do you?"

"Never. You're my one true co-anchor."

"Yes. Well. Getting back to human interest news, the King of Sweden plans to visit our little wanderers during day after tomorrow's Lutfisk Festival. All of the island, which is Finnish, by the way, will turn out to greet him and we'll view their sasquatch for the first time, too."

"I'm amazed and you viewers can be sure we'll cover every bit of the festival, the visit, and the unveiling of a fascinating new animal. And we're done. Bonnie, wait up! I've got some Rangers tickets!"

Kowalski unclamped his flipper from his neck. Skipper leaned into him companionably after turning off the set. "Problem solved, mi terroncito de azúcar. Your romantic soul can go on and your inked secret lies safe with us."

"He --- she --- almost --- I --- "

"Breathe. Now again. One more time. Good. Continue with options."

"Need --- another --- there. Ahem. We have a timetable, we have an objective. Option number one is we gather more intel on Sasquatch."

"I'm thinking a midnight surveillance."

_"Tonight?"_

"Right this evenin'?"

"Yah." Kowalski and Private turned to Rico. "Whaaaayalookinat? Sounz gooooood t'me."

"Yes, my friend, me too. We scoot over there --- oh all _right,_ Grandma Kowalski, we _waddle_ over there --- check out the entry points to her habitat. We confront her. She's on our turf now. We know zoos, she doesn't. Rico, you fully stocked?"

Rico opened wide and Skipper took inventory. "What's with the confetti?"

"Birfday."

"That was _last_ month. Get rid of it."

"Aye aye!"

There were no northern lights that night, which ought to have been an omen.

IOIOIOIOIO

TBC


	19. Chapter 19

"I caught a colossal cold, Gavina, my angel, but that was all I caught on the expedition. Our Svalbard ships, Iceland fishing boats, and Greenpeace's Rainbow Warrior are on the grid to report any more sightings of the worm or worms." Sven's corn tassel mohawk was back to shellacked splendor. He favored plaid shirts, Skipper saw, even in the formality of a Svalbard newsroom. Along with a fervor for Science as strong as Kowalski's, the Norwegian exuded manly warrior might and Skipper warmed to him.

Gavina was Sven's fellow congregant at the altar of Science on the split screen presentation. "Sven, I've rethought the conclusions you put forth. Nemerteans are carnivorous and have puncturing snouts as the fish harvester reported his lost comrade said, while snow algae-eating Plectus murrayi leaks antifreeze to enable movement in solid ice. What if a hybrid of the two species swims in Arctic seas to icebergs and congregates in enough numbers to _partially_ melt an iceberg? What if your theory of a titanic Plectus murrayi needs tweaking to consider a giant hybrid of the two species?"

"I'll consider it as a hypothesis, Gavina. There is still the issue of how Plectus murrayi and Lineus longissimus um, got together to produce this creature or creatures, and how it got to Arctic seas in the first place." Sven sneezed into a plaid handkerchief.

Gavina simpered. "Love conquers all, Sven."

Skipper clicked on the mute button and rubbed his beak. "This bothers me and I'm damned if I know why," he muttered aloud. When Private made rustling noises, he shushed himself and returned to silence. He leaned his back against the massage table's leg as he sat stiffly upright to avoid the twinges that bending brought.

I have the best team going, thought Skipper as a commercial flashed its loud colors mutely behind him on their 52-inch television screen. He sipped a reviving mug of joe as he contemplated his enemies in the still of the night.

There had been few animals in Skipper's life who had actually wanted him dead, not counting Blowhole, and that maniac wasn't in the picture this time. The cobra who had envenomated him with enough poison to kill five Central Park carriage horses had wanted him dead. Skipper rubbed his left buttock reminiscently and glanced at Rico's snoring form. Good soldier, that, always going above and beyond the call of duty.

He couldn't see Kowalski beyond Rico's bulk. Kowalski's arch enemy, The Blue Hen, hadn't particularly wanted Skipper dead, just out of the way of her schemes to rule Delaware as Senator. He snorted. Fat chance there. Delawareans were bodacious and you couldn't fool them long enough to get her past the primary. He moved on to consider fish along with reptiles and amphibians whose names he knew. The snakehead trout wanted him dead and digested, as did Savio, he supposed. Barry was an insignificant twerp who didn't care if his toxic touch killed or merely made deathly ill.

At last he regarded Private, looking cute and cuddly especially in sleep. Skipper's heartstrings twanged like Willie Nelson's guitar. Eh, onward and into the night, he thought. He commanded a great team and if only Manfredi and Johnson were here, it would be a perfect team. It was a shame to have to wake everyone, but the time was now to confront Sasquatch. He had no worries that he'd be triumphant this time. After all, his team presented a united front against her obsession with killing him and he'd never need to swim alone. This sojourn in Åland had firmed up their united purpose as nothing else had. He gave a last swirl of the sardine stir stick before swallowing it whole. Onward it was.

"Roll out! Off your dead tails and on your dying feet! Up up up!"

Private did that yawning and rubbing the eyes thing that made his commander look away. Rico exploded into action and Kowalski tumbled out of their bunk right behind him. The news feed of whatever time of day it originated from supplied motivation and action music in the wee hours of a Monday morning.

Leave it to Private to be as thorough in the middle of the night as he was when signaling all his turns while driving their souped-up penguin-sized dune buggy. He fussed about doing something until Skipper barked, "Move it move it move it! I want intel and I want it tonight! We march!"

Private looked up as he fluffed the two pillows in their shared bunk. "But Skippa, are you sure you're strong enough?"

The others whistled or got busy with nothing in particular as Skipper leveled an unbelieving stare at Private. He didn't blink for a full quarter minute.

Private looked down as he fluffed and fluffed and _fluffed_. "Never mind, silly question, you're _always up_ for somethin' --- "

"Or up _to_ something, and don't you forget it." But his commander's look was kind.

Kowalski started to place his flipper over Rico's eyes and then turned the movement into an idle wave. "No, don't bother with BlackBerries, Rico. We're not leaving Skipper alone tonight."

Skipper made an impatient noise. "Wait until we get there to supply binoculars, Rico," he said finally. "Kowalski, _I'm_ on point, _you're_ second."

"Of course, sir."

Private, Rico, and Kowalski boosted Skipper one-two-three over the barrier of their habitat like the covert operatives they were. Waddling along the way to the moose enclosure two habitats down the wide path, Kowalski pointed out Imelda giving her latest cub a midnight swimming lesson. The gigantic polar bear appeared a living ice floe as she stuck out a massive limb on which the cub rested his chin while he paddled to build strength. She didn't notice them until they had nearly passed by. It was good practice for them all to waddle quietly when they usually slid along as smooth as Barry did in the moss of his frog habitat. Kowalski waved a flipper to attract Imelda's attention as Skipper motioned a halt to gather intel from her, but she called out loudly before the second in command could stop her.

"HI, GUYTH! Nothing exthiting happening over there THO FAR TONIGHT!"

"Imelda! Quiet! We're in _stealth_ mode!" Kowalski warned. "She's not used to this," he murmured to his team.

"THORRY!" Imelda pushed her cub's tail out of the water and pointed back to their den. He looked grumpy at being left out of adult matters, but he obeyed. She lumbered to the steel fence that prevailed throughout the zoo, water streaming off her. She rose to her full height then, standing on her hind legs as if to show them her worthiness in battle. To four little penguins in the moonless night, she loomed up over them to black out the few stars that twinkled through the ice haze. She dropped to all fours after her demonstration and stuck her muzzle through the bars, speaking in a stage whisper. "Thurveillanth ongoing, resultth nada. Kinda boring, Kowalthki."

Skipper presented himself. "I'm Skipper, this is Private and this is Rico. Thank you, ma'am, for your help."

Imelda looked him over with a mother's assessing eye. "You thtill look daunthy. Thtick with the group, Thkipper."

"My plan exactly." Private shrank from her flesh-shearing teeth and even Rico looked taken aback, but to Skipper or anyone else who had sprung alive from the slavering jaws of both a Snakehead Trout and his own soldier Rico in gator form, this was a literal walk in the park. "Any zoo gossip about her?"

"She'th an unthocial one, Thkipper. A real thnail in her thell." Imelda curled her lip. "I'm okay with her moving on thoon."

"She has layers like a Spanish onion, I'll give her that." Skipper didn't have the right look of fear on his face and Private's heart sank. Was his leader going to try to _understand_ his own assassin?

Private forgot his timidity. "Imelda, beggin' your pardon, but how will you get out of your habitat if we need you right quick?"

"Like thith." Imelda withdrew her muzzle from between the bars and shoved her paws into the space. She didn't appear to strain as the bars opened from the weld on the top rail but stayed affixed at the bottom. The bars parted to form a vee shape to squeeze through. Imelda replaced them upright just as easily. She grinned and her incisors flashed even without moonlight. "Don't meth with the mama bear."

The two alphas nodded to each other, top predator mammal to top commando penguin. "I'm satisfied, Imelda. Keep things on the down low and stay sharp." Skipper motioned for his squad to move out.

From the primate house entry portico west of the moose habitat, the four set up watch on a sasquatch. After twenty minutes of surveillance, Private squeaked, "There's a badger watchin' us, I'm tellin' you!"

IOIOIOIOIO

TBC

 


	20. Chapter 20

Skipper had never more appreciated Rico's innate talent for producing just what was needed on a mission. The night vision binoculars proved _outstanding._ "Private, where away?"

"Three o'clock! Between the Porta Pottis and the third bleacher!"

It took a great deal to make Skipper lose his poise. "That's either a raccoon or the second biggest rat I've ever seen! It might even _be_ a badger!"

"Oh no! I can't get away from the bleedin' things even up here!"

"No raccoons around here and no badgers this far north, Skipper. What's it doing?" Kowalski panned the area for any additional unexpected creatures. Where there was one rat, there were usually others. From the underside of the portico's roof, the hibernating bats rustled in their sleep. It would have been expedient to use them as air recon, but they would dream batty dreams for yet another month.

"It's got a telescope aimin' straight up now, K'walski, but it _was_ watchin' us."

Kowalski sounded suspicious. "I've spotted it now. Stargazing? Only the Ploughman and the Bears can shine through the ice haze. It'll be lucky if it can spot Arcturus tonight, even."

"Hold off, men. Give it some time. It might be a nature lover out for the evening." Thirty more minutes passed with nothing alarming happening. The group settled in for a long wait with Skipper unashamedly resting against the low brick planter just inside the portico overhang. The watermelon snow slush inside the planter showed an odd color in night vision binoculars.

Kowalski surreptitiously gauged the time by calculating the movement of what faint stars he could see. Sasquatch's habitat appeared a play yard from one hundred feet away. Next to the darkened stable, the scaffolding awaited an exhibition of brachiation and the lone pine tree in an extremely small grassy area sported a tire swing similar to Bada and Bing's. Kowalski supposed it had been added for Sasquatch to exercise on for the crowds and the king due in a little over one full day, unless moose used it for head-butting practice. He frowned. The humans were treating her as if she were a common ape when she was so much more. He didn't have a solution for what to do with her and that bothered the commando in him, although the scientist part said _experiment, hypothesize, and theorize_. The scientist and commando spoke together with _then kick her where the sun doesn't shine if she threatens any of us._

After vibrating like a subwoofer in Pink Floyd's _Another Brick In The Wall_ with the urge to act, Rico stepped forward to investigate the rat-like creature even without direct orders, but Kowalski pulled him aside. "Otect-pray Ipper-skay."

"Aw yeah ah-huh." Rico pointed to the inoffensive astronomer and mimed using a chain saw coupled with an overkilling batch of TNT. "Brzzzzzhmmmm _zmmzmm_ zap **kaboom."**

"Rico, I realize that Skipper's compromised condition has you on edge, but you just can't go around **kaboom!** ing everything and everyone. Leave some room for doubt, okay, buddy?"

"Routine Two, gentlemen. Routine Two." Rico and Kowalski jumped. If Skipper could appear behind them without them noticing, he must be almost back to his old self.

"Right, sir."

Routine Two: Peace Out came from Skipper's hero, Buck Rockgut. Skipper had lectured them numerous times mimicking Buck's over-the-top gruff manner. "Listen up, _cupcakes._ In any unit there'll be someone you want to kick in the face. That's _damaging_ to personnel, _counterproductive_ to the mission, and _demoralizing_ to your fellow soldiers. What you _do_ , is" --- and Skipper had managed to stride right up each of their fronts to get tight in their faces --- "waddle a mile through the woods with someone you don't like." He'd backed off then and they returned to parade rest.

He'd clasped his flippers behind him to offer a rare philosophical tenet with Rockgut's raspy voice. "This teaches _nancy cats_ like you two things: one, that you'll not like _everyone_ you have to be around, and two, the possibility of peace is _doable_." At that point, Skipper always returned to his usual voice to add, "This isn't my entire viewpoint, but it's close. For instance, I like all of you but I don't want to give you a pebble or nothing." Kowalski sometimes wanted to ask _who **do** you want to give a pebble to, Skipper_ but then Private generally chirped _hold on hold on go over that part again are you puttin' this on the test_ and the moment passed. He jolted back to the present when the astronomer closed up his telescope, stashed it under a saltspray rose bush, and approached them in the usual calm step of a large rodent.

"Stand fast, men. We have a right to be here."

"Dot's vun vine instrument you haff dere, mind if I take a look?" Kowalski shuttled through options: hairless tail, large twitching whiskers, solid color coat thinning a little on the skull. A rat of middle years. Next to the Rat King, the _biggest_ rat he'd seen.

"It's a decent night for observing. Kowalski, give him yours." Kowalski handed over the field glasses and the rat bowed in a Continental fashion before taking them. He looked upwards first.

"Arcturus iss shy tonight, ja? Ve can see de stars best if de aurora iss gone und de moon obscured. Doze big gaudy dings black out de stars vhich are our guiding lights. Ve only haff vun life to live und de stars are best to guide it. Und den dere iss dis gray haze tonight for de hell of it, pfah."

"Kowalski, take over. I don't speak scientist."

"Yes. It's a night for staying inside, really. What are you doing out here?"

The rat handed the glasses back. "Call me Ole. I'm a Norvegian rat on my vay to spread peace in Stockholm."

Kowalski introduced Ole to his team. Skipper was letting him run with the ball this time. Confidence in his lieutenant's ability, or temporary weakness? He shoved the worry to a far corner of his overactive mind and continued. "Stockholm is fairly peaceful, Ole. Don't you think you'll be unnecessary?"

Ole smoothed his whiskers. "Nei. In de animal kingdom, peace iss hard to come by. I vork vit animals in de cities. Vhich is vhere you are vrom, ja?"

"A _big_ city, Ole. How did you know?" Skipper straightened from where he was leaning against the brick planter and grunted. He brushed off Rico's eagerness to help. "I'm all right, stop fussing."

Kowalski remembered that rat vision was secondary to their scenting ability when Ole leaned close to Skipper and sniffed. "I _smell_ pain und I _see_ vounds. Vot happened to you, my boy? For de qvestion, I vigured you for de night life of cities und you wander out tonight like me, since you are day birds, not like de owls."

Skipper crossed his flippers over his sore chest. He jerked his head in the moose habitat's direction. " _Sasquatch_ happened."

There was no shock in Ole's voice. "So. She iss fiolent. I am not surprised dot she vouldn't talk vit me." He appeared to reach a conclusion. "I see I must move along to Stockholm right avay." He looked over his shoulder at Sasquatch's large habitat. "She iss contained und scheduled for deportation, ja? Den vhy are you here?"

"We ... help animals. Humans, too, on the QT." Skipper pushed for intel. "Did she look like she was planning to do harm to the King of Sweden? Or anyone Swedish, Finnish, or even Danish? _Anyone?"_

Ole said calmly, "Nei. She looked like she _vas_ harmed. She iss missing teeth und vur und she tried to hide it vrom me, but her pinkie vas broken on her left hand." He peered at Skipper's toes. "Like dat owwie you haff down dere, but vorse."

The team erupted in muted cheers.

"Yayyyy!"

"Oh _yeah,_ baby, I mean sir!"

"Yowzahhh!"

Skipper puffed out his chest, said "Ouch," and stopped. "Yeah, that would be us."

Ole's whiskers drooped. "My vork goes on. Stop und look at her. She suffers an inside owwie like I'fe neffer seen. Don't push back dis time, young penguin," he said and Private looked confused, but Ole was regarding at Skipper. "Leaf dings be."

"Ole, I just can't do that. I have a mission --- "

 _"Stuff_ de mission. Vork for peace." He placed a paw on Skipper's shoulder. "Don't be like de humans. Do you know vhat dey call me when dey see me, vell, right bevore I run avay? Ratzilla. Do I _look_ like a monster to you?"

Private spoke up. "Anythin' but, Ole. Spread the peace."

Ole nodded in farewell. "I go now."

"Good luck, Ole." Skipper had nothing more to add as Ole departed, leaving his telescope behind.

They waited another half hour before acting.

"Tough shiitake mushrooms, Ole. Move out, squad." Skipper led the way.

IOIOIOIOIO

TBC

 


	21. Chapter 21

Hugo untangled himself from the space heater long enough to wave a finger in Sasquatch's face from behind. She sat on the floor in front of him, facing the 52 inch television screen with the mysterious blinking white dot in its middle. "You scratch my back, I scratch yours. Take me with you to Helsinki. I'm bored here."

Sasquatch winced as she massaged her left hand with her right. "And how would I do that, my friend? I would take you if I could." She brooded on something deeper each time they met, Hugo felt, something mysterious that apes in general did not think about. He needed an interesting friend like her to stimulate his aging mind. He broke off scratching her back as he put words to observations gleaned through the long years.

"Zoos often place smaller animals in with larger ones to form unlikely friendships. The smaller animals are like their pets and stabilize them. It's shown all the time on Animal Planet."

"I don't like television."

Hugo swung happily onward into his arboreal heaven. "Pigs with racehorses, burros with hippos, I've even seen a kitten with a gorilla. Why not an orangutan with a Pendek Orang? Look lonely, like _this"_ \--- Sasquatch twisted around to see and Hugo pulled down the corners of his generous mouth, sighed like an Arctic blast, and made puppy-dog eyes --- "and your keeper will try _anything_ to make you not lose appetite and be happy in your stay on Åland to impress the Swedish king and the keeper's own bosses. I'm your nearest relation and they'll remember how you perked up when you saw me as they trundled you into the back store room." He thumped his chest. "We great apes have got to stick together."

Sasquatch stretched her lips in a broken-toothed smile before she twisted back to face the TV again and he resumed scratching. "You keep saying that. I don't think it means what you think it means. I'll do what I can." She returned to solemnity. _"He'll_ be contacting me soon. I'd rather you not get mixed up with him."

Hugo took up venerating the space heater and smoothed her pelt into rough order. He never would ask her about the ripples in her fur that did not appear curried despite all his grooming. The bald patches from her fight proved simple enough to weave the longer fur over. "I'll talk to him if it'll help me get out of here. I won't miss this place."

"I'm good now, thank you." She scooted around and the two friends sat tailor fashion with their knees touching. Sasquatch cocked her head. "How do you know Helsinki will be better? I hear it's the same climate as this place. And if you go with me where I _hope_ to return with _his_ help, it's still cold in wintertime in my beautiful mountains."

"I need change before I get too old to do anything about it. I don't want to die in a zoo." Hugo drew his fingers three times in front of his face. "I'll _show_ you how much I need you."

Sasquatch put out her good hand. "No head talk now, Hugo. _He's_ the smartest animal I know and it's better if he doesn't realize you and I can speak without words." She might have trembled, but Hugo wasn't sure. "He's got an implant for an eye and scars around it. He can _see_ using echoes in blackest water, but he couldn't have done what I did to his enemy. I'm using him and he's using me. The sooner we don't need each other anymore, the better."

As good friends do, they tabled a troublesome subject. To Hugo's eyes, she seemed dreading the communiqué. He'd learned that she did her duty to her employer without much complaint but without joy in her work, either. He'd never had to work in a circus and so he didn't really understand needing to please others to get food or what it was like to perform in front of an audience. It was enough for him to live in his tree and think about the passage of time. He was grateful that his long-ago captors placed him in a zoo and not a research lab. No orangutan baby should have to face a shortened life in a lab. He rose sedately to his feet to stretch stiff joints with _pop-pop-pop_ s.

Hugo presented his bottom to the space heater as he placed his hands on his knees. "Ahhhh. Old bones, old soul, old everything. I'll break if I don't bend."

"Hugo, age makes us ripen. I'm no longer young and I'm content with that." Sasquatch remained seated, eyes glued to the television screen.

"My body is content, it's my mind that needs a reboot."

"Be careful for what you wish for."

Hugo gave a gift he'd given last to his mother and thought never to give again to anyone. He hugged Sasquatch so hard she nearly rolled onto her back. "Cheer up, ayam."

IOIOIOIOIO

IOIOIOIOIO

"Great Brahe's Elizabethan ruff, they are _not_ attempting --- "

"They're too blinkin' _old!"_

 _"_ _Ewwwww!"_

 _"Options,_ Kowalski, quick, man!"

From across the moat four little penguins put down their night vision binoculars. They hunkered down further into the ornamental rye grass poking out of the watermelon snow in the moose habitat's planting strip. This habitat's steel fence was constructed of widely spaced bars which they could slip through but a moose or sasquatch could not. Skipper was relieved that he wouldn't need to be boosted like a hatchling yet again.

Kowalski dredged up some simian courtship knowledge. "Male orangutans hoot long, lonely calls throughout the forest when they're in a romantic mood to which females swarm. Or don't." His face fell until Rico poked him. "And we didn't hear any calls," he went on, "unless Sasquatch initiated a love fest through telepathy --- "

"Ah bup bup bup! I _don't_ want to go there. Besides, she's hurting. Even mammals know when to take a break, sheesh."

"Skipper, it's been one full week today. _You_ are feeling better and she may be more like us birds than we think. Fast healing, you know?" It was a darker night than usual, but Kowalski could still make out his commander's scowl. "Like us in that way only, I mean."

Skipper snorted. "Keep it real, Kowalski. Rico, verify visuals. Now. We'll have the advantage if we catch the two of them unawares while they're occupied with each other. Hugo's presence may not be the speedbump I thought it was." Just like that, Skipper's battle mind formed a new plan. When he'd first spotted the orangutan schmoozing with Sasquatch, he'd ditched his original action scenario and replaced it with _me and Rico on Sasquatch, Private and Kowalski on Hugo._

Hugo was an unknown factor in combat with his aged cunning and still prominent yellow incisors a force to be reckoned with. Add long arms that could reach like nobody's business and couple them with strong grasping hands with opposable thumbs and you had menace times two. Dammit, I'm not up to snuff yet after a whole _week_ goldbricking around, thought Skipper, so I'll have to run Routine Thirty-Two: Confuse And Distract while Rico engages her. He looked to Rico expectantly.

Rico swallowed hard and obeyed. He observed for one full minute without commenting.

"No details! I don't want details I'd need brain bleach for! Just tell me what they're up to but no details!"

Rico shrugged. He mimed warming his flippers before a fire and gave Skipper the gentlest hug he'd ever bestowed on his brothers in black and white, Miss Perky, a stick of dynamite, or his stuffed bear.

"Hugging and staying warm? That's _it?"_

"Ahuh."

"From this observation, we may conclude they're friends and likely nothing more." Kowalski scanned the sky as he calculated star movement. "Still quite some time before sunup. Orders, sir?"

Skipper thought fast. "You all investigate the terrain surrounding this moose habitat. I want full disclosure on what each new structure the Finns placed here does before we confront Sasquatch and her pal." Paranoia seeped back after a week-long hiatus. " _Finns_ are related to _Danes_ , and you know what _they're_ capable of."

Kowalski felt obliged to fill in for Skipper's weakness in political matters and as usual went too far. "The Finnish language is in a completely different linguistic group from Danish and the Suomi government stresses fitting well into the structural system unlike the more individualistic Danes. Åland currently is under Finnish administration but its humans speak Swedish. Finland was the eastern part of the Swedish Kingdom for 800 years. The Danes have ginormous ties with Norway because Norway was a Danish dominion for 400 years and don't get me _started_ on Karelia --- "

Skipper growled and Kowalski shut up. Private either was braver tonight than usual or he wanted to change the subject from confronting Sasquatch.

"Actually, Skippa, you've never shared why the Danes are after you --- "

"And I won't start tonight! Head out. I need time to think. Report in ten." He sulled up, tapping his beak and frowning.

Like the Central Park Zoo's chameleons, the team faded from sight. Ten minutes later, they found Skipper entrenched in the same mood. Kowalski poked the bear first. "Um, the Porta Pottis are for --- "

"Aaaand Captain Obvious strikes again. Rico?"

Rico pointed to the triad of bleachers and sat in the watermelon snow.

"Brilliant. Private?"

"The banner has words on it. Also a blue and gold flag."

"Outstanding. Can any of you geniuses tell me what _this_ does?" Skipper pointed to a metal rectangle two penguins long and half a penguin deep that was affixed to the fence at half a human high.

Kowalski scurried to bring his field glasses into play without showing himself in the open. "It doesn't look _new,"_ he stated defensively. "Same metal as the fence. Electrical shock feature to deter escapes? That doesn't seem like the kindly Scandinavians. Holder for moose treats? Possibly."

"Don't give me _possibly._ Take Rico and recon. I need answers before I put any of us at risk without good intel."

Kowalski and Rico saluted. Skipper sketched a returning salute and watched as Kowalski and Rico slid over the snow, peered around before exiting the grassy cover and formed a two-penguin tower with Kowalski up top. Kowalski squinted at a logo of a moose. "It's just a nameplate for the habitat. Why isn't it the same as the one for ours?" he muttered for only Rico's earholes. There was a simple lock next to the logo. He inched his flipper tip inside and turned. Instead of the rectangle opening, a booming voice broke the night quietude. **"DET ÅR ÅLGEN BRUCE. DET ÅR ÅLGEN BRUCE. DET ÅR ÅLGEN BRUCE..."** He gasped as he turned the lock back again and toppled off Rico as echoes reverberated.

Facing Skipper would _not_ be easy.

IOIOIOIOIO

TBC


	22. Chapter 22

Kowalski took a deep breath. "Sitrep: rectangle is audio moose nameplate operated by keys given to kiddies." He deflated. "Which I activated. Prepared for disciplinary slap, sir."

"Stow apologies and go go go! We'll surprise them while they're still mobilizing!" Skipper charged through the fence and instead of sliding, he tobogganed on his bottom down the snow slicked outer slope of the moat. He seemed determined to waddle across the expanse even though the moat's ice was not much more than rime and clear water ribboned in the middle. 

Kowalski dove in front of him with Rico and Private right behind before Skipper could step out past the wintry sad pussywillows. No sounds came from the moose stable.

"Get _out_ ... of my way. I'm ... going to kung fu her plan ... against the king if it's the last thing I ... do." The burst of activity had winded him.

Kowalski formed a blockade with Rico and Private. "The ice is too thin. We didn't save you from the Eternally Foggy Sea to see you throw it all away by falling into the water and catching pneumonia."

"Pshaw. Launch me, then."

"Nuh uh."

"You too, Rico?" Skipper bent as if to gather himself for a leap but then gasped as he straightened back up.

"It's too far for you to jump in the shape you're in now, sir." Rather than argue further, Kowalski gestured to the others. Rico formed the sturdy base of the tower as usual and Private clambered onto his shoulders. Kowalski backflipped onto the top and deliberately overbalanced towards the jutting rock in the middle of the moat to topple the tower. Flippers outstretched and honed muscles taut in triple linked support, the penguin pontoon felt Skipper's feet patter on their backs. He huffed impatiently while they repositioned so he could complete the crossing. 

Skipper paused after rushing to the lip of the inner slope. He still had enough breath for a few familiar stingers. "All right ... _fine_ ... I'm compromised and I know it ... you mollycoddling mother-loving mall walkers ... soft pretzel nibbling widdle nancy _kittens ..."_

"And we love you _too,_ Skippa."

Skipper made a rude noise, poked his head over the skyline and pointed. "To the scaffolding." He put action to words and soon they took battle stances just outside the stable. Silence pervaded the entire area. If Hugo and Sasquatch had gotten up to something, they were engaged in complete silence and darkness, unlike Mason and Phil's cavalier ways. The night's increased gray haze provided diffuse light now and formed nary a shadow underneath the six-foot scaffolding walkway.

The leader changed his battle plan on the spot. "Private and I insert from the south door. Rico and Kowalski, you are reserve just outside the north door. She's faced off against the Private and me already and you two will be a nasty surprise. Wait for my signal." He ground out the rest of his scenario. "She's _compromised_ like me so I think we four can take her. Hugo, well, we'll just have to wing it with him."

Private spoke up. "I'll pop him like a grape if he tries anythin'."

_"You'll_ obey orders if neither of them wants to talk first."

"Talkin' first? You didn't mention that."  Time for _this_ penguin to up his game, Private thought, because his commander's goin' to _figure out_ an assassin. Crikey.

"Yeah. I thought it over. Ole has a point. Didn't I bring that up well I am now. I'll try to ne-ne-negotiate first." He moved to smack one flipper against the other and stopped himself. "Everyone quiet like a shadow's shadow. We roll."

"Aye." Rico and Kowalski glided around the back of the stable and disappeared.

IOIOIOIOIO

IOIOIOIOIO

"What the heck was _that?"_

Sasquatch continued to stare at the television screen. "I don't know. Keep watch, Hugo. _He'll_ appear any moment."

Minutes passed while Hugo alternated peeking out the north and south doors. He squinted at the scaffolding, then shook his head. He scented the air. "I smell something, something I've not smelled since --- "

Two penguins appeared as if by magic before him. "От всей души поздравляю, Снегурочка," Skipper said to Sasquatch's back.

"Sasquatch, look over here --- "

"Wait, Hugo, wait, I've _got_ to take this call --- " The pulsing white dot flared. Sasquatch zeroed in on the screen to the exclusion of all else after a quick glance at the newcomers. She pressed herself even closer to her caller as she twisted the television a fraction outwards. 

"We-e-e-e-lll, right on time. I like that in a minion."

_"Blowhole?"_ Private squeaked. Skipper wrapped both flippers around the young penguin and lifted him bodily away from the television's range. Hugo seemed anxious not to be seen by the dolphin mad scientist, too, and scuttled with them far to Sasquatch's right. They scrambled behind the manger where Skipper slipped to the ground.

"She said you're dead, no no no, you _can't_ be here --- " Except for covering his ears, Hugo resembled the classic _see no evil hear no evil speak no evil_ simian trio. He blotted out the troubling part of his world and moaned behind one broad palm.

"Skippa, say somethin'!" Private chafed his leader's flipper and smacked his cheek. Skipper fluttered his eyelids but then he swam where Private could not follow.

_cause its ukiuk annits cold outside_

"Wot was that? Wake up all the way, I _need_ you!" All sound in the stable hit Private's earholes in waves as if engineered by the geniuses responsible for _Shirtless Ninja Action Theater._ Time distorted in the same fashion that it did during his fall from Kastelholm and it was as if everything hit his senses at once.

_i changed my monkfish surprise recipe for you private the pepperoncinis are crucial_

" --- look, Sasquatch, I had _nothing_ to do with it --- "

"Blowhole, you gave your _word --- "_

Time roared back to its normal state when Hugo dropped his hands from his face. "Is he _finally_ dead?" He reached over to poke the fallen penguin, but Private karate chopped the finger down as he regained focus on the situation. Skipper would want him to.

" _Keep_ your bloody hands off him! We'll give you wot for in a minute! Skippa, come back!"

_"Uhhn._ Stop, Private. Don't touch me any more." Skipper raised his flipper to his head. "Dizzy."

Blowhole broke off some nattering boast as his next words filtered through to the group slinking behind the manger. "What's that noise in the background? Are you entertaining?"

_"Nobody_ has ever accused me of being entertaining."

Skipper said in a pained sotto voce, "Private, we run Routine Six." Private obeyed.

Hugo was all ears. "What is Routine Six?" he whispered.

"Play Statue." Hugo followed suit.

Suspicion laced the dolphin's next statement. "You're picking a fu-u-u-unny time to be funny, old lady. It's not like you."

"I picked up new habits in stir, Blowhole."

Blowhole was not put off. "Well, what is it then?"

Sasquatch shot a glance at the manger with its dribs and drabs of leftover moose hay. Through the slats, she met Skipper's hostile stare. She didn't falter. 

"Mice."

IOIOIOIOIO


	23. Chapter 23

"Blue Two, initiate rodent repellent sonics. Oh, don't crab about having to work! Even though you _are_ a ... crab." Sounds must have emitted from the television although nobody in Skipper's vicinity reacted. "There. Don't say I never gave you anything, Sasquatch. Now where were we?"

Sasquatch passed her hand in front of her face three times as Skipper noted the first signs of real emotion he'd seen in her, not counting battle rage. She appeared to be at the end of her rope. Maybe business meetings were not her forte.

Then came that voice that sounded the same in Seaville, Shanghai, the Arctic, New York City and the hottest reaches of cactus-strewn desert. "What are you doing? Don't go all fema-a-a-ale on me and _faint,_ Sasquatch. Get hold of yourself." Blowhole sounded flustered. Skipper thought his laser eye was strobing from the way that red light pulsed on Sasquatch's face. He wanted to see more of the transmission and maybe get clues to its place of origin, but no way was he going to out himself to Blowhole at this point. He needed to gain strength before any up close and personal dealings with that nutcase. If all went well, maybe he wouldn't need to do _anything._ Sasquatch seemed disenchanted with the whole mysterious deal and might wreak hideous Sasquatch-y revenge like what happened on Death Mountain, solving both his villain-y problems. One could only hope, but if all went pear-shaped in the next few minutes, he had the best team available to him. He couldn't see Rico or Kowalski, yet their presence felt like money in the bank gathering ten per cent interest.

Private remained staunchly at his side in statue mode with outstretched flippers to catch him if he needed it. The spots before Skipper's eyes faded right before a wave of weakness engulfed him. Like any good penguin, he surfed up to the crest before feeling more or less improved. He ignored the quivering of his knees and maintained Routine Six.

There were unshed tears in Sasquatch's voice. "I was looking forward to going home to my herd and being myself again. Will that happen? I don't know now. I _trusted_ you."

"You trusted me to keep my end of the deal when you did. What did you think when you picked me up in that bar in Nepal? Did I _sound_ reasonable to you?"

"I thought you were just enthusiastic! And smarter than me! You had a fantastic plan that I could be part of and get my agenda done in one."

Blowhole's tones appeared contrite to anyone else's perception, but Skipper figured he was playing her like the proverbial nose flute. "That mi-i-i-ight have been the raksi talking in both of us, but I told you I'll fix this. Transport by artic to Copenhagen rather than by ship to Helsinki took us both by surprise. Curse those inter-related science departments in universities and museums! I mean, how peaceful can you _get_ when you cave to another country's superior genetic research lab! Didn't Helsinki want the glory of taking you apart for itself? Um, forget that last part."

Hugo growled. "The _beast."_ He went back to furrowing his brow as he waved his hand repeatedly over it. He mumbled words under his breath as his cheek flanges wobbled. Skipper overheard one of them. " _Go backer._ "

 _"Go backer,_ " Sasquatch spat.

"Insult fight? Oooh, I am _so_ on it. Twit."

"Mutilator."

_"Unnatural."_

Sasquatch blew up. She stamped her foot like a charging bull as she shook the television with her good hand. " _Deformed."_

"Tell me about it when you've lost an eye."

Sasquatch dialed back her rage and Skipper was relieved. He didn't want to witness anything like what similar simians Mason and Phil did when they lost control. She gnashed her broken teeth. "What? You told me at Hetauda Happy Hour that you gouged out the eye when you took a header into some rose bush thorns on the segway."

"I admitted that? I must have been drunker than I thought. Listen, Sasquatch, enough. You're mad at me but I've got things on you and you've _got_ to stay away from DNA testing or my operation is blown. And I need to make my plan fly for _me_ and then _you_ can go back to whatever you want in Nepal after your procedure. Wait for my signal. I'll be the one driving the lorry. One little fenderbender and --- no, wait, then the lorry will be out of business --- never mind then. I've got two more weeks to come up with a brand new plan. Don't call me, I'll call you, same dolphin time, same dolphin station. Laters."

"It's _less_ than two weeks, Blowhole!" Sasquatch shrieked, but he frazzled away.

Copenhagen. It figured. Skipper thrust aside the unwelcome news and stepped boldly out from cover. Sasquatch gathered herself in admirable control. "He told me he saw your corpse being corteged back to the zoo by your friends," she said.

"He was wrong."

"You're tough."

"My body _is_ a living weapon."

Sasquatch gestured to the television screen. " _Living._ How am I going to explain that to _him?"_

Hugo ambled over to the space heater. He was full of gripes. "Crabs. Dolphins. Penguins. I'm disgusted with your whole bunch. Boredom is better than this. Sasquatch, explain to _me_ why I am friends with you." He withdrew into the immediate comfort of warmth as he turned his back to the lot of them and rubbed his hands.

Private couldn't keep still. His blood boiled at finally having the object of his hate before him. "You ... enablin' old geezer! She and you and Blowhole deserve each other! She's a right bloody _assassin!_ Pile on, everyone!" He flung himself forward and then through the north door swooped Rico and Kowalski in deadly earnest. The outraged members of Skipper's command threw themselves upon Sasquatch. She swung arms the size of tabletop Christmas trees as the penguins dangled from them like Hallmark ornaments. Her snarls echoed as they had at Kastelholm and Private lost it.

"Get up top! Go for the throat!" Private roared. "Rico, shove a bomb down it!"

"Arrrgh _yeah_ hehheh! Prtect 'Kippaaaah!"

"Hooyah!"

Skipper cursed his uncooperative body. He would need to _verbalize_ rather than jump on his insubordinate troops to clout them off her. He bellowed over the commotion even though it hurt his chest. "Stand down! That's an _order!_ I'll use my angry words in a second!"

The three dropped off one by one. Private was last. "I'm _not_ apologizin', court martial me if you want." He blocked one deserved slap from his leader. "She _earned_ that."

Skipper connected on the backswing. _"I'm_ still in command. Stand down."

Sasquatch faced them all with arms outstretched. "Hugo's out of it. He's old. Come and get me yourselves." She lowered her head as if to charge. Her fur stuck out at all angles and she looked as feral as Marlene used to look when outside the safe confines of the zoo.

Skipper took a philosphical tone. "You know, someone recently told me not to push back. For the moment, that advice stands." Then the storm clouds gathered with undertones of thunder. "I'm here to protect the King of Sweden. He sounds like a right guy. _We'll_ take you out of the game if we have to."

Sasquatch eased out of battle readiness to mirror her adversary's mood. " _You've_ got stamina and your herd has gumption." She regarded Private's chastened demeanor as he rubbed his cheek. "And you discipline your calves when they go too far. That's a good sign in a lead bull."

Kowalski catalogued what he'd just heard. Sasquatches called their groups 'herds' and their young ones 'calves' and their leaders 'bulls,' not what he expected, but then he'd never been as chatty with anthropoids like Bada and Bing as he was with prosimians such as Julien and the other lemurs. He joined Rico where he stood shoulder to shoulder with Private as he waited to see how this played out. Not for the first time since coming to Åland, he wished for his lab with equipment such as the DNA tester. Anything that Blowhole feared could only be a _good_ thing.

Hugo made to leave. "Ayam, this is your territory, not mine. When you want to talk, I'll be there, but don't call me too early tomorrow."

"Tomorrow is today."

Hugo tore himself away from the space heater. "Too early is noonish. Penguins, remember what I said about Pendek Orang. She and I are on our way out of this world." He fist walked out the south door.

"Selamat Malam," Sasquatch called after him.

"What was that all about? Are you sick? Is that what Blowhole meant about 'procedure'?" Skipper gathered the border pieces of this picture puzzle. The inside could wait until he knew more about Blowhole's part in it. "What the hell's wrong with you?"

Sasquatch rubbed her hand. "Except for a broken finger and _other_ souvenirs of our fight, I'm as healthy as a yak in spring pastures. Anything more you can find out from _Blowhole."_

"We've beaten him before, so we just might."

That jolted her. "You're just four _penguins._ "

"We're the rockingest penguins _you'll_ ever meet. Now lay off the king or we'll be up in your fur."

Sasquatch pursed her lips for a raspberry. "I could not care less about him and neither could Blowhole. It's just a photo op tomorrow while we eat something called lutfisk."

Kowalski broke out of his observations of her and his commander's changing dynamic. "What humans do to make lutfisk out of innocent fish I wouldn't do to a leopard seal _or_ a leopard."

IOIOIOIOIO

TBC


	24. Chapter 24

The words got in front of Private's beak before he could stop them. "Give me one good reason why we should believe an _assassin_ about the king or anythin' else, Skippa." He crossed his flippers over his chest and did a fantastic imitation of the sulky teen penguin that he had been until recently.

Skipper's reply came by rote from not so very long ago. "Because I say so." No, no, he deserved more than that. "We came here to gather intel tonight, so let's do that thing." He dismissed rumbling from the ranks as he had had to do throughout his career and addressed Sasquatch. "You _tried_ to kill me. Why?" The direct approach was always best.

"Answer a few of my questions first and I might tell you." Sasquatch stood as tall as the obelisk in Central Park and as cryptically inscribed. "What did you mean when you said you help animals?"

Ahah, an easy one. "It's what we do. We're trained in commando skills and we stay razor sharp in physical condition." He caught her giving him the once over and straightened up. "Our team operates like a ghostly wind in the shadows in covert operations out of sight of humans except in dire necessity. Rico produces _any_ materiel or ordnance we need to solve an animal's problem" --- okay, technically this was stretching things, but just one look at Rico's beaming beak made Skipper charge ahead --- "Kowalski can outthink anyone _I've_ ever met" --- am I going to regret these words, he wondered --- "and Private is the nice, cute, and cuddly one --- " he caught himself --- "who is a valued member of our team. An _extra special_ valued member." Time to shift focus onto her. "Your turn." He saw Kowalski produce his clipboard to take notes.

Sasquatch was uncooperative. She folded her arms and leaned against the stable's unpeeled cedar log wall. "What's it get you, doing things for others?"

A not so easy one. "Honor, pride in a job well done, and character up to our eyeballs, sister." Skipper really needed to sit down and disguised it by high-oneing Rico as he muttered, "Chair me." Rico hawked up a mini red, white, and blue beanbag chair and pushed Skipper down on it. "Okay, sing, primate."

She extended one hairy ankle and crossed it over the other one. She sucked in a cheek and chewed on it as she thoughtfully considered the ground. Skipper couldn't remember if looking to the right mean a lie or the truth. As usual, he went with his gut. "Was it because you're friends with Blowhole and he asked a favor?"

_"Not_ friends. He's got the resources to do what is vital to my kind and he has this bigger plan that I don't understand. Getting you out of the way _permanently_ is only part of it."

She hardened. "And you're _alive_ unless I end you here tonight."

Rico, Private, and Kowalski closed in behind the chair. Private gripped the back of it so hard it crackled, Kowalski raised his clipboard as he would a shuriken, and Rico glowered as only he could. "Any time you're ready." Skipper almost didn't recognize Private's voice.

_"As if._ " Sasquatch straightened. Her shoulders dropped. She planted both feet and looked nearly placid.

Negotiating was _muy, **muy** difícil_. "So, Sasquatch, the king. Not gonna dethrone him, huh?"

"Pblblblblbl. It's business as usual if I _had_ to." She kept a wary eye on the team behind him. "There's nothing in it for me."

"Time out. There's a _lot_ in it for you if you keep Blowhole as partner and report on him to us. We'll make it worth your while." There. Plan B. Actually, it was Plan F in this night's ever-changing sitch. He was dealing.

She didn't hesitate. "I need him. _You_ can't do for me what he can."

"We might be Option Number Two to you, but we'll try harder."

Sasquatch measured them. "No deal. When he calls tomorrow night, oh harreram I mean tonight, I won't mention you lived but I'm not on your side. Not telling my fail keeps _you_ out of the line of fire, too, Skipper." She bared her broken teeth at him in a gruesome grimace too shocking to be called a smile. Skipper admitted to feeling _justified_ in seeing the damage that he and Private had wrought.

"We'll be in touch because we _can_. Count on it."

Kowalski's scientific curiosity got the better of him. "How can you know when he'll call? There's no clock."

She pointed out the north door. "He calls when Arcturus shines over the lightning rod on the admin building."

Kowalski noticed something about the television screen. "The white dot stays on as a carrier signal. The humans haven't noticed your TV doesn't work right?"

She made a dismissive noise. "They're too wrapped up in His Royal Snootiness' visit. There's the door, what's your hurry?"

Skipper sat as still as the northern lights never were. "Think it over. Blowhole is only out for Blowhole. _You_ sound like a team player."

"Whatever." She likely picked up that jaded expression from Blowhole. Skipper rose and his team flanked him as they made their way through the south door. Private produced a very dirty look backwards at their exit along the path that humans took and did not wave and smile at Imelda and her cub as they passed the polar bear habitat. Their habitat vibrated with a mood of furious thinking as they settled into nighttime routines to soothe themselves back into sleep for the rest of the dark hours.

"No TV," Skipper ordered as Kowalski picked up the remote to switch away from the flickering unused channel that provided their light. "No shower." Private took off his shower cap. "No hobby time." Rico secured his stamp collection album out of the walkway. They looked askance at each other and then at Skipper. He spread open his flippers. "Preen me, penguins."

They sectioned him off like a picnic potluck plan and finished in record time. They shared a relaxed grin when they were done, except for Private. "Hey, what do you know? This _does_ maintain social order," declared Skipper. "Now grab some z's. We've got things to do tomorrow, I mean today, and tomorrow, too. You know what I mean." Rico slid silently into the bunk and patted the space beside him.

"I'm going topside to calculate where Arcturus will be tonight from our habitat in relation to the admin building's coordinates, Rico. Don't wait up." Rico rumbled a reply and turned over.

Skipper shook off the tension of the night and by the time Kowalski came back he was ready to sack out. He was about to signal Private to get into bed when he saw what the little pipsqueak planned to do all along.

Cripes with a clutch purse, there was Private whispering to Kowalski. Kowalski sidled towards him and Skipper held up both flippers. "I didn't slide, I didn't!"

"We could only hear big fat hairy loudmouths Blowhole and Sasquatch after he got on the blower. What happened to you to worry Private, Skipper?" Private moved out of earholeshot to place the remote exaggeratedly back in position on top of the TV. He brushed a flipper over it to clear off dust. He flicked away fish scales from the massage table. He placed Faux Skipper atop the pile of patterned pillows in the corner after dressing him in the unused Snuggie.

Skipper couldn't lie to one of his men. "The whole damn _world_ drained back and forth like the tide. I circled the drain. I came to after --- um."

_"Yeeeeessss?"_

"After I lifted Private to safety, but I didn't slide! I swear it by General Lee's dual carburetors! I had to do it. Blowhole could have spotted him and he froze. I thought he had upped his game lately, too. He's still a boy in many ways." 

"Let me see." Kowalski riffled the sparse new feathers to peek underneath at the still swollen left side. Skipper remained impassive as his lieutenant prodded his breastbone, pressed his head to the chest to listen to the heart and then stepped back. "It's only a dizzy spell."

"Okay, okay."

"You're still a quart low on blood."

"So I can't lead. Splendid."

"Granted things are changed now that Dr. Blowhole looms on the horizon, but I won't bench you. We'll run interference for you if necessary. Give it until the solstice. You'll be fit enough for anything then. Even Dr. Oz would agree."

"Anything?" Skipper's gaze considered Private, flitting about as he did this and the other thing.

Kowalski followed Skipper's line of sight. "Yes. That, too." Skipper questioned him with a look. "I meant for protecting our youngest member, what did _you_ mean?"

"Same thing," Skipper grunted. "Why would you think otherwise?"

"No reason. Good night, sir." They both turned in. Skipper thought 'lying in wait' was the appropriate legal term for what he was doing to Private. He knew right what he was going to say to him. Two snores in sync emerged soon from the opposite bunk. Private turned off the set directly afterward and settled in but not before bringing up what Skipper was unprepared for.

"I know you're awake. You said when Dale The Snail became my arch that I shouldn't try to understand him, but go on thinkin' of him as the enemy so's not to lose my edge. Wot's different with Sasquatch?"

It took a moment to come up with a reasonable reply. "Dale's reasons for wanting you dead were for revenge. Sasquatch didn't know me at all and it's necessary on any mission to figure motivations otherwise you don't have a clue as to how to defeat the enemy. It was the impersonal versus the personal aspect for Sasquatch. Impersonal is like she, she thinks beyond the petty. What I think is that impersonal is more dangerous because a wrong-headed cause can go on after the individual enemy is deader than I, or you, could ever make him or her if things come to life or death, Rockgut forbid."

"I'll need to sleep on that one, Skippa."

"You do that. Buenas noches."

IOIOIOIOIO

TBC


	25. Chapter 25

For the crowd's entertainment on a sunny Monday afternoon, Rico decided that Åland was remote enough from their Central Park Zoo friends to employ the Bavarian slap dance routine that the North Wind had forced them to learn to distract minions of Dave The Octopus. Private had been a terrified prisoner at the time, but proved an apt dance pupil because he said _the whole blinkin' Dave experience ought to come to some use_ and Skipper agreed. The commander and Kowalski improvised playing a pump organ as they tootled penguin equivalent sounds in all octaves. Kowalski did the deep bending required for the play while Skipper stayed upright to imitate pulling out stops along with appropriate keyboard flourishes.

Rico worked with Private to incorporate the thrilling jetpack hijinks of the episode's aftermath into the routine. After slapping Private's rump a final wallop for the dance, he thrust one flipper between his legs and hoisted him in a fireman's carry. He twirled and jumped while they both made very rude sounds to imitate the jetpack's engine. From the squeals of the crowd, the performance was a hit. Except for Skipper who settled down on the sunny bank of their moat, the team finished with spontaneous coordinated dives. Kowalski got out after a minute to pass along their new intel to Imelda.

IOIOIOIOIO

"Per, such much silliness!"

"Ja, Mummy! I hope our king sees this!"

"We come tomorrow and discover!"

One team of reporters stood by themselves far from the biggest gathering of techs and vendors prepping for the Lutfisk Festival's royal visit. Dozens of workers passed around them and even between them, but they swayed back together in a heartbeat and anyone could discern they were partners of long standing.

Bonnie Chang didn't know whether to scowl or wind her watch. "I had _plans_ for the next few days. You finagled this assignment of ours, didn't you, Chuck." It wasn't a question.

"I told you I had connections." Newscaster Chuck Charles of Channel 1 New York City didn't dare run a hand through his coiffure. Styling product might be scarce up here in the Finnish or Swedish or whatever they were wilds. As much as he feared unicorns, he loved penguins, however, and had been delighted to pluck such a prestigious plum project from platitudinous presidents of networks. "Look, Bonnie! What does that remind you of?"

Bonnie's jeans were too tight to bend over far. "In the water? Where the two penguins are floating on their backs?"

"One looks sleepy. It's the littlest."

"What's the moulting one doing running back and forth on the bank? It sounds like it's honking out commands to the plump one swimming next to the littlest one. Why doesn't it come into the water?"

Bonnie put on her authoritative voice. "It can't until the new feathers come in completely. It could get sick from a chill. _Now_ what's the plump one doing?"

Chuck leaned closer to the action aquatic. "It's using its flipper to guide the sleepy little one so it doesn't smack into the coaming around the drainage grate. Awwwww." He placed his hand over Bonnie's on the habitat railing. "That's sweet."

An unladylike belly laugh erupted from Bonnie and she jerked both hands up to cover her mouth. "Haw haw haw snort, no it's not! The plump one slapped the little one to wake it up!"

"Here comes the tall one waddling up to the beach. It's pushing the aquaphobic one onto its fluffy little butt! It's braying fit to beat the band."

"I recognize that one. It's the penguin who gets tattoos." Chuck pulled his turtleneck up higher in the stiff breeze.

"You and your delusions, Chuck." Bonnie pointed a perfectly manicured index finger. "Now the two are beaching themselves and the moulting one is belting all three of them."

"What did the _tall_ one do?"

Bonnie leaned away from her co-anchor. "Probably talked too much. Come on, let's see the polar bears."

IOIOIOIOIO

The little penguins spread a twilight picnic on their habitat's beach for their evening meal. Water gurgled through the drainage grate of the moat, but the sound was a bajillion times more pleasant than the obnoxious plumbing noises of Roger's former domain. They sat in a row and were wise enough to take pleasure in the breezy but cloud-free day as the sun threw a last party for them before the night's shadows brought a round of duty. Even with Åland's unexpected complexities, there was time for camaraderie.

"Smashin' routine, Rico. I had fun."

Rico slapped Private's tail feathers one more time for good measure. "Ganz recht."

"Ha ha ... ha. I think." Private matched the blank stare of the final mackerel he was about to wolf down before he slurped it away. "So, wot's lutfisk?"

Kowalski waved his last bit of herring like a pointer as he assumed a mock professorial tone. "You'll grow big boy feathers, Private, when you sample lutfisk. Lutfisk is dried whitefish soaked in water for five days and then marinated another two in water and lye. It swells, the protein leaches right out of it and it tastes like soap if not soaked another five days in water. It's a monstrous mess of mucilaginous mush when served to the brave."

Skipper made a face. "It tastes worse than one of Julien's fruit smoothies mixed with Roy's hay topped with that yuck the Red Rhodesian Slasher eats. I would have _no_ problemo giving it up for Lent."

"So the humans have been preparin' for _two weeks?"_

"The king timed his visit right, or wrong, however you want to look at it." Skipper fought off Kowalski's pushing him to eat just _one_ more smelt. He got nostalgic. "Lutfisk falls under the soul food category, I guess. There was _nothing_ like Mimsy's and Poppop's dinner table of half-digested Antarctic toothfish."

Private shifted the subject. "A sustainin' memory, I'm sure. Rico, I'm thinkin' a natural gig for us would be playin' like Siamese fightin' fish, wot do you think?"

"Ooawoawoawahhh ** _fiiiish."_** Rico got dreamy-eyed. He smacked his own Skipper's butt in a fishy rapture induced bout of recklessness. The able-bodied penguins took him down with dual Routine Twelve maneuvers until he came to his senses. Skipper was equanimical about it.

"Back to the barracks, men."

IOIOIOIOIO

"Rico, time for you to shine some more."

Rico snapped to attention. "Aye."

"I want you to surveille Sasquatch tonight when Kowalski says it's good to go. One penguin has the best chance of not being noticed. When Blowhole contacts her, listen and report what goes on."

Rico studied the floor. " _Meee?_ D'nt tlk gud --- "

"Anyone as artistic as you are will find a way to pass along what's important. I mean, I've watched you paint with _watercolors_. The rest of us will be getting our beauty sleep for meeting the king tomorrow and you, you knucklehead, look good for two days and more without rest. Don't say you don't, because I've _seen_ you do it."

"Aye aye." Rico looked like he yearned for Miss Perky to confide in.

"I'll set my internal alarm for when Rico needs to leave." Kowalski said once the curtains of night were pinned back by the stars. He tapped his head. "It's all mental discipline."

"Good, because I'm pooped after our surveillance mission last night." Private giggled. "And so are you, Private."

"I'm _not_  um, wot you said --- crikey, you're right, Skippa." He giggled again after a giant yawn. "Good luck, Rico."

"Rico, wake me when you get back if it's urgent. I trust your judgment, compadre." Skipper flung a flipper around Rico's neck and pulled him down for a noogie. " _Vaya con Dios._ Leave the set on for light."

Everyone dropped off to sleep shortly and when Kowalski poked him in the midst of a dream featuring Jackson Pollock and the color puce, Private leaned over Skipper's exhausted form to wave goodbye. Kowalski arose to offer a muffled high-one in farewell before returning to his lonely bunk.

Rico took a deep breath at the top of the ramp. It was only a few hours' solitary surveillance. Against a proven enemy. In the dark. He slipped out of the habitat to waddle purposefully past the polar bear habitat. He shushed Imelda's cub who tried to introduce himself.

"Whatcha doing, mister? I'm Marcus. My mom's asleep. I betcha you're top secret tonight, huh? Can I come along? I'm _super_ quiet. I'm a Scout! I know Morse code! I can do semaphore!" The frantic motions that Rico used to communicate with his penguin brothers had no effect. "What's that mean? Lemme come, pleeeease?" Rico looked up at the wheeling stars where Kowalski had told him to look and groaned at the waning of his safety margin. The edge of the polar bear enclosure lay only twenty feet from the edge of the moose habitat. The cub needed quieting. He slithered through the fence, dove into their moat and met Marcus halfway. The cub rolled onto his back and Rico straddled him like a surfboard.

"You know semaphore? Cool!" Rico waggled his flippers and Marcus studied him in the bright moon that had just risen. "That doesn't spell anything." Rico switched to charades since the kid didn't seem to recognize universal penguin code for 'shut up.' He got to his feet on the thickly furred chest to mime tiptoeing, plastered a flipper to his beak to indicate zipping the cub's lips, and added a pleading look complete with begging clasped flippers. "I _said_ I could be quiet, whyncha say so in the first place?"

"MARCUTH! Where ARE you, thon?"

Marcus stuck up a single claw to high-one Rico just like a penguin. "Mum's the word, bird." He butterfly-stroked his way back to his mother and Rico made like a torpedo for the moose habitat. Like a squirted watermelon seed, he shot through the fence and stopped short before he showed himself beyond the ornamental rye grass.

There was a ladder pointed nearly vertically up to the icy clear night sky. It had been secured somehow to the scaffolding and Sasquatch clung to the tiptoppiest rung with both large feet. From twenty feet over the ground, she offered her bared throat to the moon while her outspread arms wavered to keep her in perfect balance.

IOIOIOIOIO

TBC


	26. Chapter 26

A wail threaded through the sleepy zoo's pathways and then rose to the waning quarter moon. In the quietude, Rico felt his mood plummet at the grief inherent in the mournful sounds ripping from Sasquatch's throat. She paused in a snapshot photo of solemnity and then toppled stiff-legged straight forward from the ladder as if struck by a bullet. Rico's heartbeat roared in his head and his beak dropped open, but she turned the relaxed drop into a graceful somersault halfway down and stuck the landing with feet together. She clenched a fist at the sky before entering the stable.

Rico scoped out the position of Arcturus. Yes, it was time for Blowhole to call, if he bothered tonight. Rico wouldn't be surprised if this surveillance turned out to be the opposite of last night's. Such startling new intel couldn't happen two nights in a row. Though the day had been sunny, night's chill brought slick new ice over the ground and he slid as if on an inverted luge to skirt the rim of the moat. Pausing to reconnoiter underneath the scaffolding, through the south door he spotted Sasquatch frozen in place before the television, her stance at what he would term parade rest. He slid around the back of the structure to his former position to the left of the north door and waited.

"Sasquatch, I've been thinking," came Blowhole's message without the nicety of a greeting. "If you're going by artic, Blue One and Blue Two can lay a spike strip across the road to bring it to a screeching halt and then the lorry won't be crashed --- "

_"I've_ been thinking, too. I want Hugo to come along."

_"Wha-a-a-a-t?"_

"Yes. If you want _me_ to go with _you_ and not be tested by _them_ , you'll have to take _him."_

" _Have to_ is what my trainers used to order about jumping through hoops of fire. Don't use those words to _me."_

To Rico's earholes, she sounded empowered by whatever she'd been doing on the ladder. She seemed calmer than last night, at any rate. Of course, she wasn't confronted by four commandos at the moment. Well, three and a third. Skipper's praise ringing in his head, he shunted aside any worries about his leader's state of health and listened with all his might. "I'm trusting that your big scheme is more important to you than my little piece in it."

'You beat everything, you know that? First the genetic splicer troubles getting the ice worms just _right,_ making _you_ just right on Dave's admittedly fabulous surgical table with the built-in circular bonesaw, and now you want a friend to ride along so you won't be bored?"

She wasn't throwing a hissy fit because Rico heard no knuckle cracking or fist pounding. "Take some time to think it over. I'm reasonable."

"What'll we feed him? And you, come to think of it? It's a long way to Nepal."

Her voice got that tone that Kowalski's got when he _knew in his gut_ that Skipper was half-convinced of the worth of some wild invention. "Hugo eats fruit. As for me, the same as when we met. I hiked mountain paths with my herd while we ate grass and lichen, lichen is particularly tasty." Pique crept into her next words. "No more monkey chow."

Rico pictured a herd of grazing sasquatches in mountain meadows ambling along wide open paths without forest cover. Something didn't jibe here.

"Being cha-a-a-anged doesn't seem to have altered your cravings. At this late date, I'm surprised. If I bothered to keep data, I'd record it. No meat? No fish?"

Oh yes, Blowhole was sold or pushed into a corner, it didn't matter which. Sasquatch's reply was smug. "No meat unless I accidentally eat bugs or a lizard. I'm easy to cook for."

"Being born a yak has _something_ going for it. All right, Sasquatch. I'll send Blue Three out for apples and stock up on grass growing on the verge where we're parked. The timing is what we discussed before. Have fun rubbing elbows with _humans_ and _royalty_ in the next week. Be alert for any calls at this time and call _me_ if you louse up my plan. You'd better not. You _owe_ me." Blowhole ended the discussion without a farewell. Rico barely heard Sasquatch's next words. His heart beat too loudly beneath his snowy breast upon learning the flabbergasting intel.

"No, I _don't,_ baulaha," she said firmly.

Rico counted 4,200 heartbeats to calculate half an hour's passage until Sasquatch snored and he bugged out. He sped away at orca speed until he got so worked up that he tripped and rolled down the ramp into the penguin habitat. He tumbled up to Skipper's bunk and stopped, breathing hard. On his knees, he peered at his commander.

Skipper didn't stir. Neither did Private. Kowalski snuffled in the darkness and Rico heard him turn over.

He stopped at the sight of Skipper's features soft in sleep. His commander was exhausted and needed rest. Was this new intel life threatening? No. Could any of them accomplish anything with it tonight? Maybe Kowalski could analyze it faster with his awesome brain but not do anything about it, if there was anything to be done. Rico's bunkmate mumbled _kawoozle_ and turned over again, seemingly restless without someone next to him. Was the intel weird like Chinese fireworks that showered American water balloons filled with Norwegian akvavit? Yes. Could he convey the intel to his team? 

Rico thought hard, his flippers drumming his sides. Yes. In daylight. Topside. There, thinking finished. He turned off the television and snuggled himself into his bunk to wait for dawn. He'd succeeded in judging the intel's importance and the right way to bring it to light. He'd needed to figure this out for himself because there was no Miss Perky pressed close to his heartbeat as he shared his thoughts. Unlike Miss Perky, Kowalski needed downtime. 

IOIOIOIOIO

At first light, Rico drew a comic in the virgin watermelon snow hugging the rock feature on the north side of their habitat. In panel one, Blowhole drove an artic with Sasquatch and Hugo beside it. In panel two, a spike strip pierced an outsized tire. In panel three, an undecipherable zigzag filled the panel.

"Yes, Rico, **kaboom.** I get it." Skipper cocked his head. "What's in the fourth panel?"

"A bunny such as Commodore Fluffington?" Kowalski hazarded. "No, I don't think so. Are those ears or horns?"

Rico gave him a dirty look, lowered his head with flippers protruding upwards and charged. Kowalski executed a smooth pase de pecho. "Horns it is."

Rico pointed once more to the fourth panel and said, "Ah-kwatch's a yak." 

"Sayak. Ah-kwatch's, I mean Sasquatch's, full name is Sasquatch Sayak?" 

Rico shook his head hard enough to snap a tendon as he got more excited. "Ahuhahuhah-kwatch'sayak."

"Slow down, Rico, take your time. Sasquatch's sayak? Wot's a sayak?" 

Skipper pieced the words together like constructing a ship in a bottle. "Sasquatch. Is. Sayak."

Rico shook his head. "Yak _yak_ **_yak!"_**

"Hell _yes_ , I'm _yakking_ at you, Rico! I _need_ this intel."

Kowalski rubbed his beak at the desperation in his buddy's pleading gaze. "Oh! Sasquatch is a ... yak?"

Rico high-oned Kowalski and scraped a fifth panel in the time it takes to gobble a vintage herring. His team stared at peaks complete with a snowline and a rising --- or setting --- sun. "Mntns."

Skipper pushed for more. "Yaks live in the Himalaya mountains. Right. Any idea which country she's originally from?"

Rico rolled his eyes and added a sixth panel. In the beginning, it resembled a nude study of a generously endowed human female torso.

Kowalski began, " _Bhu-"_ and then Rico finished by centering two dots on the bountiful curves. "Nepal! She's from Nepal!"

_"Boom shakala!_ Blowhole _said_ she picked him up in a bar in Hetauda. Ew." The others grimaced. "Any more intel, mi amigo?"

"Nuh uh." 

"Outstanding report and snow comic. I'm going to erase it so the humans won't sneak you away to an atelier." Skipper rubbed the sixth panel's image absently until he noticed what he was doing and jerked his flipper back. "Um, the rest of you scratch out the whole thing."

Kowalski made Skipper sit between Rico and Private to shelter him from the brisk dawn breeze chilling another sunny day. He assumed the morning meeting march back and forth in front of the team that his commander usually paced. "How could this happen? Talk to me, penguins. I need input to hypothesize."

Private spoke up. "Well, it would account for her bloomin' solid carcase. She took Skippa's best punches and all she did was stagger" --- he amended his words --- "I mean, she _nearly_ got knocked off Kastelholm, I mean, a yak is a great bloody fat _cow_ , innit?"

"I'm confused, Kowalski. Although," Skipper added, "I'm relieved that she isn't a true sasquatch or a yeti or a bigfoot. You've got to admit she has big feet, though." He trembled as the breeze rose and Kowalski gestured to Rico and Private. They moved closer to their leader, but Skipper shook his head. "I'm okay. Just remembered the Перевал Дятлова incident. Rumor has it that a yeti messed up nine hikers bad in '59, real extreme prejudice kind of sitch."

_"M-M-M-Messed up?"_

"Killed, Private."

"Oh."

"Yeah, he or she tore out their tongues and smashed their brains without breaking their skulls and --- "

Private gagged. "Enough, Skippa, _please."_

Skipper ruffled Private's head feathers. "Sure, chico." He waxed sentimental. "The king is going to want to take you home with him, but he can't. You're mine, I mean ours. I'd never _cave_ and give you up --- "

Rico jumped and slapped himself. "Awww, _maaaaaan."_

"What, Rico? Did you forget something? Tell me, soldier."

"Dave."

IOIOIOIOIO

TBC

 

 


	27. Chapter 27

"Private, memorize this entry. Skipper's Log, Hiatus Version 2.1. Sasquatch isn't really a sasquatch, Blowhole is either on Åland or nearby spouting a bigger plan than offing little old me, and since these things come in threes, Denmark is involved. Another set of three is that I'm not _quite_ 100 per cent fit and frosty --- Private, code that 'eyes only' and then forget you ever heard it --- and we meet the King of Sweden today and a little bird told me that Dave arrived to squirt ink onto the overall picture. Cheese and crackers, it's riddles inside a mystery covered in triple strength Saranwrap. A.A.R.P., your mission statement needs revision as much as Windows 10. _Relaxation_ , my left ... pinkie toe. Endit."

Private nodded. "Righto, Skippa."

The breeze brought burgeoning blasts of crowd noises including a calliope playing what must be the universal rollicking circus theme. Cries of _kippis sille_ reached their earholes. Skipper mulled over the correct penguin protocol for receiving a king of a friendly nation. "Rico, give me a few laps, your choice as to quantity. The king will be by any minute." Rico _tried_ to touch his toes, did three deep knee bends and eight side stretches before waddling off, making Skipper jealous of his limber subordinate. He prodded himself to simmer down semi-successfully when Kowalski returned from bellowing at Imelda through the barrier between their habitats.

"She SAYS that --- ahem. She says that Sasquatch and the king exchanged a dignified wave and that His Majesty apparently gained special dispensation to toss lutfisk at her in defiance of zoo rules. She ate it by the Imperial gallon and everyone said she was _söt_ and toasted her with _sahti_ while shrieking _kippis sille._ We can gather she made a hit with both the Finns and the Swedes. Chuck Charles and Bonnie Chang are covering the event for Channel 1." He chuckled. "Imelda says she can smell something off about the two of them."

"It's probably their hair product fumes." Skipper looked like he did when describing lutfisk. "Puke and double puke. So Sasquatch knows how to be social when she wants to. Interesting."

Private slid from obedient secretary to smart mouth young penguin in an instant. "She can bloody well do the minuet with Hugo on a tightrope for all I care. I don't trust her, Skippa."

"I don't, either, but she sounded honest enough about not being a threat to the king, so there's that. We might need her to snitch on Blowhole if she changes her mind about how we can do her some good. It's Tricky Dicky territory, I'll grant you, but think about Routine Two, Private, or have you forgotten Buck Rockgut's lesson about how we aren't put in life to love _everybody?_ It's enough to tolerate --- "

Private pushed his luck as he narrowed his eyes. "She ought to sit on the business end of K'walski's Revolvin' Creditizer. She'd wind up a blinkin' _trilobite_ simmerin' in pottage."

Skipper pulled back his slap at the hideous memory and shoved his lieutenant into the fray. "That wasn't its name. Kowalski? Some help here?"

Kowalski drew his dignity around him. "It was a De-Evolutionizer." He slumped. "I was lucky to change you back after you became a Suzhousaurus. I couldn't have done it without Rico's flamethrower."

Skipper snorted. "Yeah, you'd think your gizmo would have made me into something boss like a T-rex. Instead, I got a girly name and _furry feathers."_

"My invention worked in _reverse,_ didn't it?" Kowalski folded his flippers and glowered. "So it made you un-de-evolutionized. Un-evolutionized." He thought some more. "Un-oh whatever, let's get back to Dave. What do we remember about him? Octopus, crazy with penguin envy, lonely, mad genome morphing skills, possible land-based laboratory where he next planned to take the cuteness factor from sweet little adorable pandas, which live _near_ Nepal ... "

As Kowalski trailed off in hypothesis mode, Skipper turned pensive. "Funny thing is, _my_ memory has glitches from around the time of being squashed --- "

 _"Please,_ Skippa, no flashbacks today." Private forced himself to smile. "We're meetin' a king!"

" --- yet I'm on track remembering Dave's name after having trouble with it when we first met him. Weird thing, memory." Skipper shook himself out of the past and turned to the future with a twinkle in his eye. "Private, someday _you_ might be a Commander and then you'll make a humorous entry in _your_ log about me bouncing onto those rocks and you believing I was dying."

Private became angry. " _Now_ you're _teasin'_ me. _Maybe_ ages from now I'll come up with a funny entry, but that whole _braapin'_ day added years to your life and took years _off_ mine."

"Private! Language, soldier!" Private made a sound of upset, took a graceless jump into their moat and dove to its bottom.

Skipper fumed. "Aaaand I can't follow him into the water to wash his beak out --- oh wait. There's _something_ I can discipline him with." He rubbed his flippers gleefully. "Bucko, you won't know _what_ hit you."

As he did most times, Kowalski glided over emotional nuances like Charlie White. He tapped his temples with both flippers. "You'd _think_ that if a miniaturized octopus escaped from a little girl's New York City snow globe Channel 1 would be all _over_ it. No, Skipper, I'm convinced that Blowhole couldn't _share_ any lab. He's not a team player like we are or like regular dolphins in a pod. He's taken over Dave's backup lab and committed horrendous deeds. Where Dave is we can only guess." He returned to deep thought.

Rico popped out of the moat where he'd been doing 40 laps underwater. "Whunup wif 'Rivate?"

"He's working off a pout. Let him be."

The sounds of happy human feet approached as a cameraman edged his way into their view, his steadicam aimed at the commotion outside Imelda's residence. Murmuring human voices grew to average volume while Skipper took stock of his team for the royal presentation. Rico preened his pits after his swim, Private still sulked underwater and Kowalski wandered in hypothesizing heaven, but he himself felt pretty darn good for a walking wounded penguin. He looked down his chest. The pink islands of skin not covered by black or white feathers had shrunk in recent days to isolated islets as small as Bouvet Island. The newer feathers slightly overlapped the newest nubs and shrouded his form almost as completely as any ninja would want. When the king and his party rounded the stone habitat wall and one dozen royals crowded the railing followed by newscasters including Chuck and Bonnie, Skipper stood straight and tall.

The king was immediately recognizable from Channel 1's coverage of him passing out the Nobels each year. A regal, kindly expression was on his face as he balanced what appeared to be a newborn human on one arm while linking his other with his queen's. The newborn seemed to be as solemn as Private had been at that age and made no sound. Three little preschoolers ran around their grandparents' and parents' feet, balanced on the habitat railing and squealed when Private made a stellar appearance.

The junior member of the team automatically earned four demerits taken away from Skipper's punishment when he porpoised out of the water in front of the royal party. He gained momentum after hugging the moat's bottom at the curve of the western end and then paralleled his sleek body six feet above the water for half the length of the habitat island. Skipper held his breath when the team's youngest looked like he was going to overshoot and smack into the stone barrier, but Private fulfilled his precise training to reenter the water without a splash at the last possible moment. He circled the island to perform five more leaps to cheers from both human and penguin audiences.

One young human female leaned heavily on her male escort as she bent over the newborn nestled on her king's arm. Skipper assumed it was the child's mother who had recently birthed the baby and shook his head. Penguin ways were _much_ better in this situation. The father penguin shared nesting, foraging, and all other aspects of natal care. From Randy The Sheep's table of human child age estimation gained from vast experience in Central Park's petting zoo, Skipper placed the two royal girls at four years and the lone boy at one year. As the kids scampered about, the camera crew zoomed and panned the royal parents as they behaved as parents do worldwide and shook warning fingers, gave pointed looks, and grabbed royal ears to use as handles. Now _this_ aspect of shepherding the young Skipper could relate to.

The king continued his role as grandparenting baby buggy as he studied the habitat and made remarks to the newscasters while switching flawlessly from whatever tongue he was speaking to English. Chuck Charles and Bonnie Chang appeared the ultimate professionals as they captured the king's attention and directed their crew's camera work. All eyes wheeled from human interest to penguin interest ten minutes after the penguin coverage began.

The commander jolted from his observations when Kowalski zoned out of his own mind and back into the world shared with his penguin brothers. "Hawking's singularity! I just put the pieces together --- Blowhole _carved_ Sasquatch --- what he did to her hooves and horns was the scheme of a _madman!"_ the scientist exclaimed before he buried his face in Rico's chest. After some murmurs that Skipper couldn't make out, they sprang apart.

Skipper ignored the king's steady regard. It wasn't as if ol' King Carl could _understand_ their words. "Kowalski, elucidate."

Kowalski blinked at Skipper's new command. "He altered the spine, rearranged the uvula, warped the tibia _and_ the fibula and did horrendous trimming on her pelvic region." He dredged up a watery smile. "He left her fur intact. It was stitched back on her unevenly, but it _was_ her original pelt."

Skipper exploded. "The monster! To do all that to a female! Yak's wool is naturally odor resistant. That's why Rico couldn't track her at Kastelholm. And the Kármán vortex street through the pines couldn't have helped!" At Kowalski's shocked double take, Skipper erupted again. "What! I watched a lot of nature documentaries while I was laid up and you all were topside performing, all _right?_ " He left Kowalski to Rico's comforting as he added to Sasquatch's unsettling dossier. The wind rose to snatch the king's hat and Skipper watched as the man passed the infant back to its mother so he could participate freely in the next portion of the photo op. Majesty restored and returned hat firmly pulled down, Carl XVI Gustaf of Sweden did his duty, as must Skipper.

The king's party milled in front of the habitat when a vendor wearing a fish-shaped top hat distributed white chunks of something to the group as Private broke into a sixth porpoising stunt. "Get up here," Skipper snapped when Private was airborne close enough to hear him. Private avoided Skipper's exasperated look, made a last defiant circuit of the island and leaped onto the beach with perfect placement to stand with a scowl by his leader. The king tossed a chunk of the white substance towards Skipper with exact aim and Skipper caught it in the way of penguins that humans expected to see. "Eat this," he mumbled with his beak full.

Private's eyes watered as Skipper shoved a blob of lutfisk down his throat. He gulped it and turned away. "Tastes like soap, no more, Skippa."

"That's the point. Don't you _dare_ upchuck it and _don't_ cuss anymore." Kowalski and Rico acted like the sorry stuff was delightful. The two of them capered before the crowd while gobbling lutfisk, the steadicams whirred, and Private offered no more guff as Skipper matched him swallow for swallow.

The king's retinue moved along after a few more sound bites. Before leaving, Carl's eyes met Skipper's and their exchange of rueful looks soared above the boundary of species and circumstances as the two alphas contemplated leadership's trials and rewards. Skipper proferred a final dab of lutfisk to Private as he slid a sidelong glance at the king. The royal grandbaby must have awakened because there was an infant-sized squall and the king hurried out of sight. Skipper's last impression of the king was overhearing a string of Swedish endearments cooed to a grandchild.

Skipper withdrew from his team to sit on the beach and enjoy the sunshine. Two of New York's Finest Newscasters consulted their notes with a local technician's aid as the three lagged behind the royal party.

IOIOIOIOIO

"Chuck, the assignment was to scoop the other networks by showing the king and the sasquatch and the penguins all together in one shot. There's no time now to go back to arrange that." Bonnie flicked her bangs from her eyes, but the wind was fierce and blew them down again.

"Ei, Bonnie," the tech struggled. "Too myöhästynyt."

Chuck turned to the tech. "Miten sanotaan Photoshop suomeksi?"

"Photoshop."

"Fine, we'll Photoshop them all together." Bonnie raised plucked eyebrows at her co-anchor's linguistic expertise.

"Kyllä, Chuck." The tech scurried away to rejoin the king's group while chattering on his iPhone.

"Well done, Chuck. Can you read Finnish, too?"

Chuck had given up keeping his perfectly moussed hair smooth in the breeze. He shrugged before crossing his arms. "I just speak it a little. Twelve years anchoring Channel 1 has taught me to go with the flow, Bonnie, like our friend on the beach. See him just sitting in the sun and not worrying? That's Central Park Zoo's penguin leader, according to the discredited CD I discovered showing him and his group in outrageous commando stunts."

Without preamble, Bonnie pressed her Vera Wang suit's back pleats against Chuck's Armani front. "Block the wind for me, would you? Thanks. Yeah, about that CD. I, um, missed you when you were let go for awhile. Pete Peters knows bupkis about banter."

Chuck crisscrossed his arms over Bonnie's collarbone and pulled her in tighter. "Bupkis? Yksi kieli ei ikinä riitä."

She twisted to face him within the ring of his grip but didn't escape it. "That last bit sounded Finnish. What did you say?"

"'One language is never enough.'" He leaned forward to shelter her even more and she tilted against him in response but just then a little boy ran towards them and they swayed apart. The boy hid behind Chuck after spotting his American flag tie clip.

"Save me from the eating of the lutfisk! Mummy and Fadder comes this way!"

The penguin on the beach made a raucous sound when Chuck and Bonnie turned him over promptly to his parents in the timeless conspiracy of the old against the young.

IOIOIOIOIO

TBC


	28. Chapter 28

Scooter Alvarez's punchy commentary on the last Rangers game that Skipper had cheered on to victory echoed in his mind. FORCE, POSITION, ANGLE drove the commander's attack into the box as he caromed the metaphorical puck straight through Kowalski's five hole to make goal.  "It wouldn't take Commodore _Danger_ long to figure out where Blowhole is and what he's up to. He could sort out why the Viking homeschooling menace is real, too."

Kowalski's look was priceless as he iced the puck back to his opponent's half of the rink. "Skipper, Commodore Danger has the dedicated resources of his own section in the British Navy's Special Boat Service, not to mention faboo Agent Fiona ffolkes whom we've _seen_ uncover rogue nations' secrets by uncovering her pneumatic charms to seduce their agents when she isn't seducing the Commodore --- "

"A- _hem, Private_ is present, Kowalski! I won't let you destroy his innocence more than it already is after his 'special briefing.' "

"He can't hear me from the corner, and he's more adult than you realize." Kowalski eyed Private as he finished his penance. "He's really getting too old for a timeout, sir. Cousteau's Zodiac, cursing isn't _that_ heinous."

 _"I'll_ be the judge of that." But Skipper raised his voice as he hadn't been able to lately without pain to address the young penguin who mumbled into a sympathetic earhole. "You can take your beak out of the corner now and join in strategizing, Private."

Private approached sheepishly. "I was just tellin' Faux Skippa that _I_ would give lutfisk up for Lent straightaway, too."

There was muttering from this part of the peanut gallery from a certain Science Guy as well. "Plus there's the salient fact that Commodore Danger is a movie character and, you know, _not real_." Skipper shot a quelling look at his other troublesome squad member and Kowalski took the hint. "Just saying. Sir."

Forgiveness bloomed in the staticky grow light glittering from the 52 inch television set as the time for nocturnal noodle nudging began. Skipper seated himself on the floor away from his team and tossed the remote to the one soldier who hadn't tangled with him in the last hour. "Rico, find the news."

The commander began isometrics with his recovering right pinkie toe as his mind whirled. It was frustrating to see only the tip of the iceberg. Blowhole morphed a yak into a sasquatch to eliminate his arch nemesis and that was only part of an even worse unknown plan percolating in the dolphin's fevered brain. Skipper hoped the electronic hearth of a television set would lead to new directions and ideas for _action_ from his think tank.

He counted down their remaining sojourn on Åland. Fourteen days to foil the scheme of what must be a diabolical design diametrically opposed to all that his team stood for. Was it a natural disaster like Bad Tidings? Was it a mecha monstrosity like the Chrome Claw? And how did the crazoid get established, get power so quickly after his base blew up? How did he survive? Did he finagle Doris' sisterly attachment into letting him crash with her? Was another Kowalski and Doris run-in on the horizon and would he himself get roped into Kowalski's species-hopping mess? A headache threatened if heartburn didn't beat it to the punch. The glow left from the king's visit dimmed as Skipper plucked out a loose feather to twiddle.

Rico tuned directly to BBC News: Polite Version. Gavina Formes' concerned look marred her professionalism as she continued reporting on the elusive Antarctic worms in Arctic waters issue.

"The island of Skorpa in northern Norway joins Iceland and Svalbard by insisting that giant ice worms rise from the deep fjord to venture onto the deserted island. Across the fjord in the little town of Kvænangen, wary villagers train keen Scandinavian eyes accustomed to sharp contrasts between sea and sky to observe the happenings on Skorpa's deserted three square miles. As with Iceland and Svalbard, I am forced to report rumors and half-seen loops of vermiform shapes writhing in the waters of a Norway steeped in legends of krakens. I am on the verge of being impolite." After the initial jolt of mishearing 'Skorpa' as 'Skorca,' four little penguins listened to Gavina interview Sven once more.

Gavina's neat appearance belied her profound worry. "Sven, there's little chance that an iceberg will drift into Skorpa's fjord this time of year. Why do you think Plectus murrayi would venture into the fjord and onto Skorpa? If it isn't Plectus murrayi mutated beyond belief into an ocean dweller adept on land as well as icebergs, what could it be? We don't want to bring up the word kraken and panic people. My dear colleague, this is surpassing Polite News' territory. It might be time to hand off the story to the regular BBC. _They_ don't mind panicking people." Gavina removed her spectacles to dab her eyes.

"Darling, _you_ brought up kraken twice, _I_ didn't. Let's not get dithery, shall we?" Sven's heavy features turned speculative as he rubbed his jowls. "In the past three days, I've reworked my hypothesis. Since sightings are no longer on icebergs and in the ocean _alone_ , if Plectus murrayi was somehow, according to your idea," --- he broke his mood to shine a dazzling grin on Gavina across hundreds of miles --- "affected by sunspots or other phenomena to _meld its DNA_ with the nemertean Linus longissimus, then we have a problem. I'm thinking a Greenpeace issue on the same level as dolphins snared in drift nets or narwhals' tusks sawn off for cosplay among misguided Lunacorn fans."

Private gasped. "I'd --- We'd never --- not even Bada _or_ Bing would --- "

"Outrage later, Private. Your brothers know you'd never." Skipper pointed to Gavina. "Look, she's clutching her pearls! I've heard of it, but this is the first time seeing it!"

Gavina hyperventilated as she ran her nacreous necklace nervously through her fingers. She got herself back together in fifteen seconds. "Sven, Linus longissimus is the most common nemertean along the British coast. If one is blended with Plectus murrayi, then Plectus murrayi's ability to subsist on bacteria found everywhere combined with Linus longissimus' poisonous barb makes it a formidable specimen indeed. One might even exude the nemertean's toxic mucus." She quaked. "I could spot the creature whilst driving along the M4. Cor lummy!"

"If it's a giant beastie, get away fast, lovey." Sven steepled his large hands that were unafraid of hard work. "I'm surmising that it's a hybrid and the Linus attributes allow it to slither onto any environment while spearing the unwary. Add Plectus murrayi to the mix, and a hybrid could survive through anhydrobiosis."

Gavina remembered her audience. "Anhydrobiosis, cherished viewers, means that worms of this sort survive dessication as well as extreme cold in the parched valleys of Antarctica. They literally stop metabolic activity until conditions are ripe once more."

"Plectus murrayi can lose up to 99% of their body water content and survive. Tough little buggers, aren't they?"

 _"Please,_ Sven, language. We'll keep you viewers posted regarding noxious nematodes in any locale. Trust us." Gavina smiled weakly for her farewell. "On the fluffy side of polite news, we end with a montage showing the King of Sweden's visit with the sasquatch on Åland. See how playful she is on her tire swing! Watch how she joins in a staring contest with Princesses Estelle and Leonore! Gentlemen and ladies, do not be alarmed at her fur's rough appearance because she seems to be a lovable klutz like Bella Swan, I just adore that series, don't you? The sasquatch will continue to delight one and all until her departure for Copenhagen's Natural History Museum Centre for GeoGenetics. One moment, I'm getting an update." Gavina cupped her earpiece. "Oh, right. Look quick, here are some penguins, too. Goodbye and good manners from Polite News."

Rico found an old episode of Bob Ross to watch. Skipper allowed him ten minutes and then sliced his flipper across his throat. Rico only muted the set with a hopeful look back at Skipper, who nodded as he got to his feet. The team rose as one.

The alpha brain wave state brought on by watching TV proved beneficial. Kowalski produced his abacus and thought hard. "Triangulation is the key by tracking Blowhole's smartphone. I'll need a computer in the admin building for plotting purposes."

"Easy peasy to insert with our expertise, but how will you log on?" It was Skipper's job to bring up difficulties.

Kowalski waved his flipper airily. "Pishtosh, some lazy clerk always leaves a computer on overnight. When Sasquatch engages Blowhole --- that sounds gross --- at the usual time, we'll use the lightning rod as antenna. No, wait. It's only a one story building with no cell tower and the tree line might block the signal. I'm not really sure. Even if he's at least 24 miles away on the Swedish mainland, the land here is flat enough with only low hills, but the trees --- no, on second thought, we need a lofted antenna." He played with his abacus and frowned. "If we were in Central Park Zoo, we could ask Pinkie to take it up."

"Now, _there's_ an outstanding mission candidate." Skipper rolled his eyes. "Nope, Kitka both _would_ and _could_ do it. _You've_ all seen her bravery. _I've_ seen her strength and suppleness and strength and endurance and power and daring up close and _extremely_ personal --- "

Kowalski erased something on his abacus. "You said _strength_ twice."

" --- Kowalski, be nice, memory glitch, okay? --- and before you know it, viola, we'd have a liftoff with the antenna. Pinkie might do it for us or she might doublecross us like she did switching the fishcakes." He scowled. "She's shortsighted."

Private put his flippers on his hips. "Who's Viola, then? _Another_ of your girlfriends?"

Rico slapped his knees laughing as Kowalski chuckled and said, "Ah, Private, I think Skipper means --- "

Skipper had had enough of this blah blahity blah. "I've had enough of this blah blahity blah. If we were in New York, Shelly can't fly and Pinkie is too flighty to trust, yes Private I realize what I said so stifle. Kitka would be the right a rooney choice of bird, hmmmm? Am I right? I am. I'm deliberately leaving out Frankie because it's a falcon for the win. So where can we get a Kitka up here in Swedish and/or Finnish territory?" He left out the part where he'd tried to rendezvous with Kitka outside both Central Park and the zoo after he broke up with her and found out she'd moved her nest. She'd help him --- she _would_. There was always a certain tie with any ex with benefits and he'd persuade her in the way she liked --- meh. The point was moot anyhow.

Rico advanced with Faux Skipper held tenderly in his flippers. "Blooon." He removed the Snuggie from its form and tossed the garment back into the corner. He upended Faux Skipper and puffed on his valve to plump him out after his use as a soccer ball. Skipper turned away swiftly to face the others.

"See? _See?_ This is what I'm talking about. Rico makes his own rules, thinks outside the box, and I'll come up with a third thing later. Good job, Rico. We won't need a Frankie, Kitka, or Pinkie. I could see Pinkie biting and popping me just to be mean."

"Faux You, sir."

" ** _What?_** Those are court martial words, soldier!"

"Faux You." Kowalski waited a beat as Rico hefted the namesake dolly.

"Oh. _That's_ what you meant."

Kowalski pulled his inspiration out of the stratosphere. "We'll raid the zoo's balloon stand for helium to make it stay aloft. Since March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb, the wind likely will be steady. If it's not, the helium will lift Faux You despite everything." He was already onto the next problem. "We'll need wire." Skipper could see the lightbulb go on behind his lieutenant's eyes. "The lightning rod! Copper wire runs down the building into the ground. We'll use it and replace it that same night."

"Triangulation means three points so we're set, right? Faux Me antenna, Sasquatch's TV receiver and Blowhole's --- what if he doesn't have a smartphone? "

Kowalski folded his flippers over his chest. "Honestly, do you think Blowhole would go one _second_ without a fancy iPhone?"

"Why so sure?"

"The name, duh! _iPhone_. As in _me first._ He's the most selfish dolphin I know. He's not kind or generous like Doris. How they came from the same parents is beyond me."

It sank home once again that Doris was never far from Kowalski's thoughts. "Good work and I stand corrected, _jefe."_

Private was happy. "We won't need a Kitka, yayyy!" Some petulance crept in. "So we got a teensy-weensy mention on Polite News. La dee dah."

Kowalski spun a bead on his abacus. "It would be nice to think that our covert efforts will be archived for posterity, but if we do our job right, _humans_ will never know or care."

"Wot? Do you think the ice worm story is any better than our overt visit with the king? Worms are bleedin' trivial, if you ask me."

Skipper made an indescribable sound as he placed both flippers to his temples.

''Catch him, quick!" Private braced his commander from one side and Kowalski from the other.

"Whoa, room tilt. A-Arctic ice worms?" Skipper's sharp gaze clouded over. He shrugged off his support as his voice rose. "I saw small ice worms on the Kastelholm rooftop! They distracted me and Sasquatch won! But the documentary I watched when we first got here said that ice worms aren't on Åland or anywhere near here -- they're in Alaska! And Washington The State! And maybe Nunavut! But not around here! I couldn't remember until now." He slapped himself with both flippers, hard, and then bent double, massaging his midsection.

Private couldn't contain himself. "I knew it! She wouldn't have got the upper hand if you weren't distracted. _Nobody_ ever could!"

"You go on thinking that, young Private. The team needs you to." Skipper gave the young penguin a look filled with so many things that Kowalski and Rico couldn't keep track. He swayed on his feet.

Rico wanted to forget the sight of his commander blaming himself for something that wasn't his fault. "D'nt **kaboom!** _self,_ 'Kippaaah." He horked up a gold and blue mini-beanbag chair which Skipper sank into. Rico grinned in relief and then his eyes got round as dismay rumpled his face. He dropped to the floor at his leader's feet. "'Kippaaaah."

"I'll be okay in a minute, don't fuss and whatnot, I hate it --- "

Rico took a deep breath and spoke slowly. "'Kippaaaah. Blowhole. Mentioned. Wrms." He ducked his head. "Frgot. Sowwy."

"Another piece of the puzzle. What the _hell_ can he be up to?"

Private wrung his flippers. "You said somethin' about worms when you were dyin', Skippa, and I didn't bring it up it later because it was just _too_ awful --- I-I couldn't talk about it --- "

Skipper looked somewhere between exasperated and puzzled. "How did I know then that I _wasn't_ dying? I never died before, Private." The mini-beanbag chair crackled as he smacked one flipper into the other. "So we can speculate that Blowhole has something to do with the ice worms that I saw and the ones Gavina and Sven report on. Hoo brother. We know _what_ he _might_ be doing but not _why._ "

The three penguins plopped down to form a circle with their leader as if around a real fiery hearth instead of an electronic one. "Tomorrow night Operation: Plug A Blowhole begins, men. We've been coasting up until now."

IOIOIOIOIO

TBC


	29. Chapter 29

Dawn always brought renewed focus to any mission and Skipper continued to place Blowhole's downfall topmost, but it wouldn't be a penguin commando mission without other considerations muddying the waters. "Men, until tonight we need to stay on our toes. There's entertaining the visitors to get through and then we move out. Operation: Stay Frosty is a go for today."

Kowalski played with his abacus while muttering and Private sent off vibes of concentration as he licked the outlines of his morning sardine. Rico gestured to him to come over. In the two weeks on the island, he'd added some comfort zone material to his duffel as he had not needed to before Skipper's rough time.

"Akdjskvtlajlkicojijjjkkjo." Rico yanked a striped nightcap from his duffel, followed by three separate travel brochures for fjordphiliacs and a framed and glazed charcoal sketch of Miss Perky. He kissed the sketch before replacing everything to root around some more. His face lit up.

"Found wot you were lookin' for then, Rico?"

Rico pulled his stamp album from the slim duffel. "Ahuh." He flipped through meticulous pages that only he knew the organization for. "Homminahomminahommina ... ta-dahhh!" He pointed to a fighting fish stamp in a group with four bright others.

"Smashin' colors. So many all blend like they're strobin', sort of makes me dizzy. Oooh, there's one fish with just two colors, orange and white. I'm gettin' ideas for a routine, I am."

Rico patted Private's white chest and then his black back. "Neatr."

Kowalski put down his abacus to peer at the page. "Didn't the reptile house back home have bettas for a while? Pretty creatures. I'd never have eaten one of _them_ on a Ritz cracker." He looked closer. "This simpler coloration is called dalmatian."

"Woof woof woof!"

"Yes, Rico, the dog." Kowalski grew cosmic. "Purity like that is um, pure. I like it. Pristine white, all colors together, contrasting with black, the absence of colors. White as the driven snow, black like Hans' heart, white as dolphin spray, black like the Eternally Foggy Sea --- "

"Earth to Kowalski, come in for a landing on Runway 404. Your party is waiting." Skipper chugalugged his coffee and downed his sardine with a hearty slurp. "Topside, team." Rico tossed his stamp album atop his bunk until Kowalski frowned and then he replaced it in his duffel to stack with the others in the far corner where Faux Skipper presided. The wind whistled across the mouth of the ramp and when they breached the surface of their island, Skipper remembered Ma's insistence on wearing hats and thick warm mufflers during cold mornings. Well, he'd just need to stay active to counter the exposed areas of dimpled penguin skin.

"We need a new routine to jumpstart the day. Private, you mentioned Siamese fighting fish at one point?"

The young penguin studied his leader head to healing toe. "Righto, Skippa. Hmmm, K'walski, black and white aren't the only colors we show. We have orange feet and orange beaks and pink tongues."

"And bright blue eyes like yours, young Private."

"Yours, too, Skippa."

"Er, yes. Right enough. Well, then, onward. Hooha!" Their leader jumped one fifth his height to deliver a pulled karate chop at the youngest penguin's neck. "Do they fight like -- _ugh_ \--- this?" He landed with a wince. "Dammit. Ouch."

Kowalski assumed Routine Eight: Now I Will Teach And You Will Learn pose. "Easy, sir, you don't want a relapse. Siamese fighting fish don't pounce so much as posture and pretend they're not noticing each other when they're really sizing each other up. You know, like humans do at a bar." He half turned his back to them all. "Skipper, you can help me demonstrate. Fluff out all your feathers."

"That's not fair. My coat isn't complete!"

"Psssht, call it a handicap for a sandbagger. _Everyone_ in this habitat knows that in a real fight you'd have the advantage over me in usual conditions."

Skipper fought down his fear that here near the top of the world he'd be at less than his best to confront Blowhole's plan. "Maybe." He fluffed what he had.

"We stare straight ahead while standing at angles and make like we're thinking about how to take down Burt when he's not looking."

"A full-grown pachyderm? All right. I'll stare ominously at one o'clock, you stink-eye at four." With a whisper between their flippers, commander and lieutenant hunched their shoulders and narrowed their eyes, calculating so hard that Rico swore he could hear their thoughts.

"Sir, snap little glances at me as we move to two o'clock and three o'clock." Skipper threw in a dirty look to make it seem like Burt was deadlier than Hans at his worst as he shuffled into position. He tapped into his fight might.

Kowalski arched his back and pointed his flippers down. "Then comes the attack posture."

"Like sharks do before they come at you ricing, slicing, and dicing? I like it!" Skipper arched to a small bow towards his toes. " _Umph_. That's all I've got."

Kowalski adjusted his near-circle to match. "We face each other for the final stare off." They stood nearly beak to beak as Kowalski used his greater height to advantage and fluffed his feathers in a fighting rage. Despite the mock nature of the combat, the atmosphere crackled with healthy competition.

Skipper squared his shoulders, as relaxed and simultaneously tense as he ever got in this familiar territory. He could do this. Kowalski was his second. Kowalski would not hurt him.

Kowalski mirrored the mood. His eyes were glittery. " _Then_ pounce, like this." With a _hi-yaaa!_ he aimed a softened sweep kick while Skipper pivoted out of the way on his uninjured foot on the thin skin of ice left over from last night's freeze. Like a dervish, the taller penguin spun around behind his leader, gently grasping the ankle of the extended foot and supporting the flipper that Skipper extended to balance himself. As in pairs skating, he initiated a limitations-cautious camel spin for Skipper and joined in one of his own to parallel as gracefully as Yukari Nakano's signature move.

Skipper landed from the camel spin to offer the full pecking and squawking maneuver which constituted Routine Number Two. He mouthed Kowalski's flipper tip as if scoring it savagely. He made a lot of noise about it. The two curled around each other in a bizarre whirlwind. Kowalski spun to Skipper's rear to secure a half nelson while deliberately forcing his opponent only to his knees to enable him to employ the half nelson countermeasure impossible in a full stomach-to-ground pin. At this stalemate, they caught sight of what Rico and Private improvised.

Going directly to ground work, Rico tripped Private the same time that Private tripped him. Rico set Private on his lap unexpectedly as he would to control a hatchling, but Private proved once again that he was no hatchling and the two had at it hammer and tongs. Each strained for a quick win as they rolled around a central axis until Private lay atop Rico. In a split second, Rico flipped him until he hooked a solid right leg around Private's roly poly midsection. Next, he rolled Private on top of him back to chest and hooked the ankle of his crushing left leg behind the knee of his own bent right leg. He squeezed and Private grunted as he relaxed in surprise at the bold move. Rico used the brief window to slip his left foot between Private's legs from the back. At the same time, Rico's muscled left flipper captured Private's head in a choke hold. He braced his right flipper tip on the ground for balance and squeezed harder.

Private had time to consider Rico's bent for excess as he fought the hold in vain. He slapped the ground. "Give!"

At Kowalski's admiring "Wowza!" to his bunkmate's full throttle assault, Skipper used the break in concentration to clamp down on Kowalski's pinning right flipper with Skipper's own pinned right flipper. He squeezed as hard as he could and at his muted "Ow!", Kowalski disengaged. They both panted as they rolled backwards to prop themselves up with their flippers to see that Rico and Private did the same. After catching his breath, Skipper had a question.

"So male Siamese fighting fish _kill_ each other?"

"Sometimes injuries are that serious, yes. A rare one may submit to the other's aggression and back off peacefully. Mainly, they rip each others fins and tails to shreds."

Rico had a question, too. "Ahgromtzgrrrrlz?"

Kowalski had to think a moment. "Male and female relations are even rougher and the body placement resembles what you and I just did, Skipper."

"The _hell_ you say."

Once on a train of thought, Kowalski rode it into the terminal and up to the lunch counter. "In fact, Skipper, if you were female like we thought you were that time, I would build a bubble nest for our eggs. I wonder if our hatchlings would resemble you or me?"

" _My_ hatchlings? Can't say I've ever given it much think melon time."

Kowalski continued into the lounge of the terminal, heedless of the ramifications of his words because it was all dispassionate science, of course. "I'd have to kill you now in the afterglow of our lovemaking if we were Siamese fighting fish. The females are not good parents like males are."

"Because females aren't er, um, uh, _faithful to the team?"_ Skipper waved away a passing gnat.

"It's not that, sir."

"Crrrzy **_FIIIIIISSSSHHH!_** " postulated Rico.

"Fish aren't birds, Rico. Macaroni penguins are monogamous," threw in Kowalski.

"Fish or bird, I might not be able to pull monogamy off, either," Skipper said thoughtfully.

Private sounded wistful. "I'd like to think someone might make you want to try."

"It's not any of these things -- oh I'll just come right out and say it. Siamese fighting fish females sometimes eat their own eggs. Yeah. I know."

_"Filter_ , Kowalski, _filter!_ We talked about this!" Skipper gagged.

"It's _not_ my imagination, it's pure science -- okay. All right." Kowalski tented his flippers. "What do you all think of the Rangers' chances to win the Stanley Cup this year?"

Private's train of thought still spun on the turntable at the roundhouse. He sat up to swivel his feet back and forth as he cast down his gaze. "I don't think I want to do this routine, Skippa. Siamese fightin' fish need to listen to Ole."

"Oh, relax. You only live once and if you work it right, once is enough."

Private looked askance at his commander. "That's wot you said when you pushed me into Escape Tunnel Number Four to test the new Animal DNA Specific Defense Shield. I didn't fancy that at all."

"Aw, I was only teasing. You'll like this, I promise. Buck up, I'll take you on with what Kowalski and I started while Rico and Kowalski practice what you and Rico just did. All I ask is that you modify the rough stuff because of my stupid condition."

"Will it hurt?"

"Maybe a little in the beginning until your muscles get used to it, like any new routine. Hey now, where's your Siamese fighting spirit?"

"Drinkin' a nice cuppa in a peaceful Buddhist temple?"

Skipper sobered. "We _could_ forget the whole routine. Your call because you started it."

From somewhere deep inside, Private forged a forceful attitude. "No. I can keep up with you, Skippa. And K'walski and Rico, too. Let's dance all together." He put action to words as he leaped into a plié to surprise them while they scrambled to their feet. He dodged their attacks, he parried pulled punches as if he were fencing with two lightning fast epées, and he ended by dropping into a floor routine. They laughed and joined in by tussling and rolling except for Skipper, who dropped out after two minutes wheezing like Casey Jones' Cannonball Express whistle. Skipper cheered raucously as Private fell to with a passion while laughing like a loon. The youngest penguin staggered upright briefly for the win, and then he plopped himself down to sprawl backwards with his friends.

Skipper tiptoed between Rico and Kowalski's flippers as he clapped in slow motion. The action swerved from sarcasm to acute admiration at Skipper's broad smile.

By chance or design, all three noggins lay close together. Skipper leaned over them to mime taking a quick cameraphone shot and then he joined them on the ground. They gasped "Click!" together as their leader took an imaginary selfie of four redoubtable penguins ready for whatever the world could throw at them.

IOIOIOIOIO

TBC


	30. Chapter 30

Sasquatch settled into lotus position as the evening wind whirled a candy wrapper from the western part of her habitat towards the east. The stone wall section caught it to join several more stuck there. She scowled. If it had sailed only a few more feet to the south, it would have disappeared through the fencing. Maybe it would have bothered Imelda's sense of order or better yet, the obnoxious penguins'. 

From her perch atop the scaffolding, she closed her eyes to the pretty sunset to shut out an otherwise troublesome world. Images played behind her eyelids of irritating aquatic birds clawing at her and pulling her fur as they threatened to explode her from within. Ha, fat chance of that happening. She murmured her mantra and the images faded. She smiled and installed a more pleasant memory. Although it now felt normal to walk upright, she treasured vivid sensations of cattle egrets parading on her back as they picked off her parasites. Blowhole's change to her outside appearance may have initiated EMR parasite-repellent pulses, but there was nothing like the sense of providing nourishment to a fellow creature even if it did wear feathers and could fly. It was almost as good as nursing a calf.

She smiled again. Ahh, the thought of relief in itch-free skin under clear Nepali spring skies soothed almost any worry. Yes, her happy place was within reach. Perhaps a bit over one month or at most two, and she would see Nepal once more. A few snips from Blowhole's restoring procedure, a few days of recovery time, and she'd frolic with her herd on the warming Maytime meadows. Her individual future shone even brighter when she considered what she was accomplishing for her kind. Life was good for once.

Sasquatch passed her hand three times in front of her forehead. ::Hugo, the fix is in. You're coming with me.::

He must have been awaiting her mental call. ::Sasquatch, I'll believe it when I see it.::

::You'll be free from this place along with me. Blowhole said so.::

::You're trusting him again.::

::What choice do I have?::

::None, I suppose. When are we leaving?::

::The schedule isn't firm yet. It's less than two weeks if the artic comes through and we're loaded onto it. He'll hijack the artic and we're off.::

::Have you practiced looking pitiful? Like you're just dying for an animal friend?::

::I'm not much of an actor.::

::Try. Draw down your lips and then wibble them, avoid eye contact with your keepers and refuse food. Trust me.::

::All right. How about at your end?::

::I'm an expert at refusing food. I'm looking at where you used to be and sighing right now. My keeper is tidying my habitat.:

::And she doesn't see anything strange about you sitting and waving your hands around your face?::

::She just thinks I'm going senile. Oops, I'd better not push it too far or I'll be at the clinic before you know it and that will bollix our plans.::

::Break off with me and interact with her a little. Show affection.::

::Not my thing.::

::It will be. It must be.::

::There. I hugged her and looked winsome.::

::You?::

::I have my moments. Now she's hugging me back. Urk.::

::I'm having trouble picturing this.::

::It's just as well. There won't be any orangutans in Nepal and I'll never need to hug again.::

::Curmudgeon.::

::That's the word, ayam.::

::Hold the wire. The penguins are up to something near the admin building.::

::They are a wily bunch. Too much like busybodies for my taste.::

::The chief harami bull wants me to report on Blowhole to him. He says he'll make it worth my while. He claims helping animals is what his herd does.:: 

::Ayam, don't listen to him.::

::I'm not. I wonder what he meant, though.::

::I don't wonder about anything. What does it get you?::

::No time for debate, they're really making me curious. Talk to you later. Selamat Malam.::

Sasquatch clicked the metaphorical button to disconnect and stood tall on her vantage point. It wasn't tall enough. She jumped off the scaffolding to reach the ladder placed by the foot of the stone wall. It was only a six foot ladder. Sasquatch smiled grimly as she extended it to eighteen feet, locked the connectors and strung it between the scaffolding and the top of the stone barrier. Stupid humans thought she didn't know how to do this. She walked on the ladder as if on a tightrope and stood atop the capstones of the barrier.

There they were. Should she just watch or should she interfere? Would this affect her in any way? They might be all into helping animals and even people, but she wasn't. It was better to observe. The linden trees behind her habitat could offer no cover in their denuded winter state, but she jumped into the nearest one anyway. After climbing to about the same height as Kastelholm's frigid metal roof, she pressed herself to the trunk to diminish her silhouette. Peace descended upon her as she attained altitude. There was a great deal to be said for the _satisfaction_ of being higher than others. It made feeling superior to them so much easier.

As usual, peace was shortlived. "Taile ke gareko saale?" Sasquatch muttered. One bird logrolled a cylinder next to the building. In the sputtering northern lights of early evening, the cylinder shot muted pastels from its matte metal. The other birds played around with a bucket dangling from a beam jutting from the admin building's ridge. There was a rope depending from the beam and Sasquatched supposed it was used to haul the bucket up and down. Workers had been on the roof repairing something earlier that apparently needed more than one day to complete. Were penguins on the roof yet? No, now one was on the ground. No, now one was halfway up. Was it the same one? It fell to the ground, got tangled in something, and shot up again. The others ran in circles. One stopped and put his flippers on his hips. He appeared to let this situation play out. At last the action stopped. The fallen one stumbled towards the calm one and offered long loops of something as if in tribute before collapsing.

Sasquatch blinked. Were there _five_ penguins? One stood unnaturally still after swaying in the breeze. She recounted. Yes, five. What could this mean? She hadn't heard zoo gossip about another penguin's admittance, but then she was not chatty and the moose habitat was too large to overhear things easily. Maybe another had transferred in? 

A scraping sound from far below attracted her attention. A white shape at the foot of the tree scratched the linden's bark rhythmically. When the white shape looked up, Sasquatch made out two dark eyes and a gaping mouth that might have been smiling, but wasn't. It was Imelda. The polar bear posed a watchful threat as she said nothing but continued to sharpen her claws. This could be bad. Could polar bears climb trees? Sasquatch could understand that her spying on Imelda's friends might bother Imelda. It was better to disarm the threat. As an alpha in her herd back home, she knew how to do this. 

Sasquatch descended to eight feet above the ground, contemplated the length of Imelda's front feet, and climbed back up to twelve feet. With good warning, she could clamber up to the next branch and go high enough to evade those claws and teeth on the bear's heavier body in the smaller branches way up top. She estimated that Imelda was too fat to climb fast or far. She hoped she was right.

"What are you DOING?" asked Imelda in a voice neither threatening nor friendly.

Now that she could see Imelda up close, Sasquatch thought a neutral reply was wise. She might be faster than a polar bear, but one stumble and she'd be hard put to evade three-inch eyeteeth and those freshly-sharpened claws. She tightened her grip on the tree branch. "Out for a bit of free air."

Imelda wasn't fooled. "I THINK you're thpying on the GUYTH."

Counterattack. "I think you're spying on _me_."

"Right ath rain, THITHTER." Imelda strained upwards on the tree trunk, claws gaining purchase. If her paws were two feet longer, she could scrabble to the lower branch. She still could jump to it with some effort. "I don't like you."

Fair enough. Sasquatch dropped to a taunting squat on the branch. "Where I don't know _you_ at all."

"Mom! Mom!"

Imelda swiveled her head. "MARCUTH!" She backed down the trunk to drop to all fours, blocking her cub from approaching and all the while snapping wary looks back at Sasquatch. "Bad boy! BAD!" She cuffed him and he spun in a circle. "Not a GAME, THON!"

"Aw, Mom. I just want to help. I could, I know it! I'm a Cub Scout!" He glared at Sasquatch. "What's she done?"

Charge. "Yes, Mom, what have I done?" Sasquatch returned the glare at both of them. "Innocent until proven guilty, or don't you believe in that?"

Imelda placed her bulk between Marcus and the tree. "You nearly MURDERED a friend of mine. You don't get a THECOND chanth." Imelda growled low and Marcus backed away. "Thtand far from her, thon. Bad NEWTH."

Sasquatch rolled her eyes although she knew Imelda couldn't see it in the growing darkness. "I'm a mother, too, bear. Don't think I'd hurt any calf, rambunctious or not. I never have. What I want to do is _secure the future_ of my kind. You polar bears have a stake in that notion, or so I hear."

Imelda lowered her head and swung it back and forth. "Thay WHAT?"

"Look, I'm just observing. Don't go ballistic on me. I'm curious about your guys. What's the crime?"

"Penguins smell fishy like we do. You smell" --- Marcus tipped his head back for a good long sniff --- "weird. Sort of like Bruce but different."

"Marcuth, no THWIMMING for a week if you don't go home right NOW." Imelda kicked backwards with one furred hind foot. Marcus sidestepped the push.

"But --- "

"Now." Imelda's voice softened. "There'th nothing here to thee. Mom will be back thoon. Go now, thon."

"Awwwww --- okay."

IOIOIOIOIO

IOIOIOIOIO

"Kowalski, what the hell happened?"

Kowalski still couldn't focus his eyes. He put out a flipper and Skipper steadied him. "Horseradish. Brambleberries. Iceberg lettuce. Romaine hands. Russian fingers."

"Awwww, Rico, take him." Skipper pushed gently and Kowalski stumbled backwards into Rico's strong flippers. Private rolled the copper wire into handy loops before placing it on top of Faux Skipper's flat plastic feet to act as ballast in the brisk breeze.

"Skippa, I was closest and saw the whole thing."

Skipper had been optimistic at commencing Operation: Plug A Blowhole, but his mood had soured. He grumped, "All this because I'm not fit for full duty and couldn't stand support in our penguin tower to get up to the roof. Cheese and --- and --- "

"Nasty, _soggy_ crackers?"

"Report, Private. Don't be cute or cuddly about it."

Private slapped his flippers to his side, their tips pointing to the outside of each ankle as per regs. "Reportin' in full, sir. Since we need copper wire stringin' from the computer to Faux You, K'walski figured to borrow the lightnin' rod's wire. He unfastened it from the groundin' part stickin' out of the um, ground, but we needed to go roofside to undo it from the rod. Rico pointed out the bucket hangin' from a roof ridge beam holdin' somethin' heavy with a pulley and rope to haul it up and K'walski said, "'Let's do physics and let the counterweight carry me up.'" Private paused. "Bad call lookin' back, sir."

"Indeed."

"Well, then he undid the rope from its tie to the side of the buildin' and found out suddenly that the bucket was _way_ heavier than he was. He got tangled in the rope and it pulled him up and then halfway up the bucket bonked his head a fair good one as it headed down. He still hung on to the top and I heard him say, 'The pulley's grabbed the tips of my braapin' flippers!' --- his very words, sir, sorry --- but even then, even then, Skippa, he broke one free to snap the copper wire from the lightnin' rod and on the way back down he pulled the wire from its fastenin's to the wall of the buildin'. Oh wait, I'm gettin' ahead of myself. Then the blinkin' bucket hit the ground so hard that it bursted its bum and the heavy tools fell out so now the bucket was lighter than poor K'walski. He dropped like a heavy Christmas puddin' and when he was halfway down and the bucket halfway up the br---bleedin' bucket whomped him another go at the head. He fell onto the sharp tools and got some right nasty cuts on his shins. 'Oh heck,' he said then and he must have lost his presence of mind because he let go the rope. The bucket dropped and --- "

"--- conked him again. Yes. Good report, Private, way to go. Why do these things happen only to us? And it's 'burst,' not 'bursted,' ain't that right, Kowalski?"

Kowalski approached, attentively supported by Rico. He rubbed his head and still looked dazed. "'Busted' is proper, too, Skipper."

"You okay, compadre?"

"I'm fairly decent. The headache will pass in two point seven five hours. I'm up for computer work, just like always."

"Rico, some TNT, if you please?"

IOIOIOIOIO

TBC


	31. Chapter 31

Skipper tried to ignore Kowalski's muttering as the four clustered outside the admin building. "Plot Arcturus location from flagpole at the zoo entrance --- won't be able to see the lightning rod from inside the building --- azimuth --- circumpolar --- Ploughman --- red shift --- time is of the essence --- "

The admin building was fairly secluded from the animal areas and no humans remained in the zoo after dusk, so Skipper indulged Rico's need for noise and glitz. He'd used small amounts of plastic explosive rather than TNT. **_BANG BANG SPLOOP WHOOOZZZZLLLLLL_** went the C-4. At Rico's excited hop and high-one with Kowalski, the commander was reminded of how little, really, it took to make the demo expert happy. Not that it was his job to make his soldiers happy, he reminded himself, when survival and accomplishing the mission were paramount goals. He was about to approach the undone window with his team when Kowalski concluded calculating and paused. "Remember, no sliding, sir."

"Cripes with a clutch purse, yeah yeah yeah, all right already."

Kowalski noted the little grin. "No _rolling,_ either."

The grin vanished as Rico spiked Faux Skipper through the window like a volleyball. "Okay, okay. Baby boost, activate!"

Skipper placed one foot into Private's cupped flippers and admitted surprise at the boost showing mature penguin strength. He forced himself to halt on the sill while the rest of the team leaped onto the good hardwood floor, slick and clean and absolutely perfect for sliding. He stepped out in faith without looking, and Kowalski and Rico eased him onto the floor as Private walked in worried circles under the window. The breeze swirled the sheers around the young penguin and he batted them away.

"We broke into the primate house and now we're breakin' into the admin buildin'. Won't somebody suspect? And we're the new animals on the block, we're obvious perps!"

Skipper brushed away a small tear. "You make me proud, young Private. Your righteous paranoia is flowering just like you are." He brought himself back from the brink of a head feathers ruffling. "I don't care what the humans _or_ animals think. There's no Alice or Leonard here to suspect everything we do from breathing oxygen to stifling Ringtail whenever he gets on my, I mean our nerves."

"What did I tell you? Here's a computer left on!" Kowalski jumped onto the keyboard and hopped furiously for several minutes. Rico, Skipper, and Private gathered around to marvel at Kowalski's brain power. "Search for a Find iPhone app? No, he'd notice when it kicked in. Hmmm hmmm hmmm, think, Kowalski!" He focused on the copper wire at his side for a split second. "Do separate the wire, someone. It needs to be triple that length. Undo the strands and twist the ends together."

"I'm on it, K'walski!" Private turned to and so did Rico and Skipper. Ten minutes later, a shiny length of wire was ready for duty. 

"Done and done, mi amigo."

"Eh, got it? Good. Tie an end to Faux You, er, on the valve, I guess. Now I hook the other end to the port, yes like that, Kowalski, you're awesome. Skipper, push the balloon out the window and go take a running jump." 

"Er, what the hamsteak?"

_"To launch it_ , to launch it oh I forgot you can't Private take over for Skipper." Kowalski alternated between tapping on the keyboard and rubbing his head until his feathers resembled Rico's wild top.

"Righto, K'walski!" Private manhandled Faux Skipper through the window while Rico and Skipper reeled the wire out smoothly from near the computer. Through the window, Skipper saw the young penguin slide on the snow as fast as a Red Rhodesian Slasher could skedaddle while holding the balloon in front of himself. He let loose and Faux Skipper popped skyward adroitly. Private hustled back to the window to hold the wire and keep the wind from sawing it back and forth on the window's edge and possibly wear through its new thin gauge. "I'll handle it from here, Skippa."

Skipper turned to Rico and they high-oned. "Aw grown up," Rico said.

"Right a rooney."

Kowalski ignored them and got back to his task after he jumped down to scope Arcturus' position through the far window and hopped back up again. "Five more minutes to spy time." While he paused in thought, Rico whisked open the medico bag he'd produced in the usual way. He dabbed the cuts on his friend's shins with antiseptic ointment on a pledget and Kowalski didn't even notice. Another minute passed as he rubbed his aching head and then he shot bolt upright. His friends didn't dare interrupt his self talk as he walked himself through triangulation.

"I'm on Waze and it's free tracking and Blowhole's initiated the call. Now the signal is zinging to its nearest radio tower --- kazap kazing! --- and it shoots to Faux Skipper's antenna and into this computer, you sweet darling, I love you honey, and then it kites to Sasquatch's TV. Now we wait." He danced on the keyboard as he'd done in the past while stabbing his flippers at the numeric input pad several times. He hit Enter. "Wait for it --- wait for it --- little more --- signal strength wavering --- Blowhole please don't be on the mainland please please please --- tower receiving strongest signal draw its coverage radius now that's one point and the iPhone is somewhere in that ring --- now plot Sasquatch's TV radius and location overlap the two spheres narrower and narrower the location choices hoo ha --- enter the signal strength from this computer next and where the three orbits intersect you have --- keep talking Sasquatch yammer at him some more don't quit _now_ \--- "

IOIOIOIOIO

Sasquatch and Imelda observed the penguins vanishing into the jimmied window. "So they're doing who knows what in the admin building. Aren't you curious, bear?"

Imelda shrugged. "I trutht Kowalthki and if I know anything about them, he'th the one mething around human thtuff for thome reathon. He'll tell me if it'th important."

"Don't trust."

"Trutht but _VERIFY,"_ countered Imelda smugly. "Getth you THOMEPLACE in life, Thathquatch. Thay, why don't you have a REAL name?"

"It's enough to get by on. I have a real name in my herd." Gah, she hadn't meant to reveal so much and now Arcturus approached its rendezvous with the lightning rod. "I've got to get back to the stable. Is this going to be a problem with you?" Imelda had seated herself on the snow ringing the linden's trunk, so the dynamic between them was more relaxed and if not comradely at least in stasis. She placed her paws into her lap and Sasquatch breathed easier not seeing the claws that could haul a 400 pound harp seal from protecting ice cover.

Imelda tilted her head towards Sasquatch's branch and bared her teeth. "Doeth it need to be?"

"Whatever." Imelda could make noise to alert the penguins, she could get through the bars of the moose habitat fencing in the same way she'd gotten through the bars of her own habitat, she could ... It didn't matter now. Blowhole would call and his menace and capacity for helping her cause came first. "I'm leaving. Do what you want."

"Let them BE. Latht WARNING." Imelda glanced towards the admin building. "What the --- "

"Penguins can _fly?"_ Astonishment pinged back and forth between the two alphas.

"I never heard they could! Kowalthki, what THECRETTH did you keep from me? Thomething'th THTRUNG behind him --- attached to hith --- it CAN'T be, that would hurt too much --- unleth they're even TOUGHER than I thought --- "

Sasquatch climbed swift as thought to the topmost branch she felt safe on. She took a good look at what bobbed in the breeze high above the building. Chortling, she felt she _had_ to share this with Imelda, and it had been a long time since she'd felt the need to share with another female. She brachiated down to the branch only eight feet up from the white earth.

"You're not going to believe --- I mean, it's not what we thought --- oh harreram, it's a balloon of the head harami bull with a wire tied onto his, um, blow-up valve." Even this wasn't amusing enough to make her laugh full out, but Imelda was different. The aurora seemed to flare in sync with the polar bear's enjoyment of the sight, although Sasquatch thought gravely that it was probably her imagination.

"HOOO hooo ha ha! GUYTH, what are you up to? Do I WANT to know?"

No more time for ... fun, was this fun? She wasn't sure. Arcturus lay within minutes of its proper position. "Imelda, I'm leaving."

"Yeah, YEAH. Remember what I thaid, Thathquatch. Hoo me, hooooo, haha. _GUYTH_ guyth guyth, what exthplanathion can THERE BE? Go for it, kidth! Whatever IT ith!"  


_"'Kids'?"_

"They're younger than me. Habit."

Shaking her head, Sasquatch made her connection just in time.

IOIOIOIOIO

The conversation with Blowhole consisted of his explaining how Blue One and Two scouted around for a police supply store to steal a spike strip from, discovered there were no such stores on the peaceful island and wound up making do with a pilfered garden hose studded with something called two-penny nails. The exasperated dolphin insisted on explaining that two-penny nails would not be long enough to puncture an artic's tough tires and so seven-penny nails were needed. Sasquatch listened impassively to the long-winded explanation and thought of how this would all be a bad dream by the end of May.

"I made them go back for the right size and redo the whole hose." Blowhole cleared his blowhole and Sasquatch flinched at the bubbly squelch. "So how's things by you?"

There was a first time for everything. Sasquatch kicked the mini-beanbag chair that one of the noxious penguins had spewed and then left behind. "You've never asked that before."

" _Keep minions deluded that I care about them,_ that's my new motto. No, really."

"I'm all right. Hugo is all right. We're doing hard time here, what do you expect me to say?"

"You get three squares and a roof over your head, old lady."

"So do you."

"I have to _work_ for them. Those worms don't make themselves, you know. My other enterprises take work, too. I, um, appreciate that Skipper is out of the picture. That's all I wanted to say. Was there a weepy funeral for me to gloat over?"

Uh oh. Gratitude from him was not expected in the least. She kicked the mini-beanbag chair again to hear it crackle and rubbed the broken finger that had gotten sore with all the climbing. "I appreciate your appreciation and no funeral that I heard of."

"It's not like them. They loved him, I could tell. Why else would they haul his carcase all the way back to the zoo? My lorry didn't pick up audio, but its fish eye door peeker showed me two of them huddling while the littlest one held vigil or some rot. I assumed they were planning what to do with the body."

Shift, shift, shift the subject, subject, subject. "So what? Who besides his team would come to it? They're strangers here like me. The humans probably disposed of the body and he's on the dissection table or burnt up in the incinerator as we speak. By the way, Blowhole, Hugo doesn't know about me being a yak. Can you keep it that way?" Push for concessions while someone displays partial vulnerability. It always used to work in her herd.

"Would it do _me_ any good if he knew? It's your business." Blowhole did the dolphin equivalent of shrugging. "Why would he think you are hot to trot back to Nepal, though?"

Sasquatch sighed. "He believes me to be a true sasquatch and related to him somehow. He'll probably try to convince me to travel with him to Sumatra after we stay awhile in Nepal. Just keep quiet about the whole issue."

"A _ple-e-e-e-e-ase_ would be nice."

The word set her disgruntlement sense tingling. "Please." This conversation had gone on long enough. "So it's settled."

"Whatever. Blowhole out."

IOIOIOIOIO

Kowalski slumped back. "Got it. _Holla!"_

IOIOIOIOIO

TBC


	32. Chapter 32

Kowalski strutted his stuff. "Blowhole is approximately six miles away from us, to the north of the Mariehamn Airport. Waze showed location as the main road and he may be on a smaller offshoot, but all of the island is so near any stretch of water that he might have a base of operations in the water itself, too. Triangulation the way I did it is less accurate than other methods. I couldn't risk anything else or chance alerting him." He prodded his head under the ruffled feathers and winced. "Our zoo, I mean Åland Zoo, is on the eastern edge of the island's peninsula and we'll need to trek six miles somehow without us stressing over stressing your health, sir."

"Too late," Private piped up.

Kowalski hit Delete and hopped down to handle the sitch known as Optimal Way To Proceed Without Sending Skipper Into The Stratosphere. "Face facts." He chose the blunt approach. "You can't waddle that far and you're off the sliding scale of um, sliding, so we need transport. I don't think the Q32 bus or Lexington Avenue #6 train goes in this direction."

Private tittered and Rico humphed, yet Skipper's expression remained sour. He slapped the desk similar to the one he would be stuck at now if the Inflatium had not popped to its unexpected end. Naturally he would have been relieved to be alive and he could have avoided battling Sasquatch, but the tedium of a desk job --- no. It was a call made for him and he was glad. What felony was Hans up to these days? He was jerked back to the present when his troops shuffled out of the way of his pacing.

"Damn. Sasquatch, you have a lot to answer for." Skipper paused to stare out the window as the sheers riffled and the view showed the aurora gaining strength. "The sooner we get her to spill her guts about her boss, the better. I'm going to roust her out on the way back. I refuse to risk this unit with insufficient intel about giant worms." He crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue. "Rommel's desert peach, do you ever hear the words that come out of your beak sometimes?"

"K'walski, I'll be gettin' the wire back into place on the roof. You stay put and mind the headache."

"Thanks, Private. I'll reconnect it to the grounding." Kowalski leaned against the computer desk leg and kicked back to enjoy being sidewalk supervisor. "Retwist the wire counterclockwise, if you please. Rico, return the helium tank to the balloon stand without trying to make your voice sound funny."

"Awwwww, _maaan!"_

Kowalski waddled to the window and pointed. "Skipper, see the willow tree overhanging the fountain by the main entrance flagpole?"

In the aurora, the flagpole's finial changed colors and the fountain's bubbling spray looked more exotic than anything Skipper had seen on his many travels excluding Atlantis.

He became poetic thinking of that magical place and his spirits lifted. "The weeping willow tree brushing its sorrowing osiers over the limpid frost-rimed pool?"

"Yes. I need some of its bark."

"I'm stumped."

"Bwahaha! Oh. Um, you don't know that willow bark contains a natural painkiller. If I chew it, the headache will go quicker. I'm only sorry it wasn't available when you needed it most, sir. We were trucked into our habitat using the service entrance and I didn't realize the tree was there."

"Pshht, I'm alive, right? Sure, I'll peel you off some." Skipper faced the window. "Boost me." Kowalski obliged and Private and Rico caught him on the outside before turning to their own tasks. In the deserted office, Kowalski sneaked a look around and then kissed the computer goodbye before leaving.

The roof access proved a small obstacle. Holding the wire's end in his beak, Private hopped from brad to brad on the building's wall, using the wire's original fastenings as he would rocks on a rockclimbing wall. By keeping up swift momentum, he powered through the climb as he deployed toes and flipper tips until he reached the overhanging beam with the depending pulley. Giving it a dirty look, he backflipped atop the beam with ninja grace. It was the work of a few seconds to twist the end back tightly onto the lightning rod's stub of snapped wire. He descended and by the time he reached bottom, Rico had returned.

"Fireinnahole! _A-a-a-a-a-a-a!"_ Like a tommygun, Rico spat new brads to secure the wire again onto the wall. "Bingo!"

"Bingo!" Kowalski tied off the other end to the grounding. He high-oned Rico and Private.

Rico smoothed down his friend's head feathers gently. " _My_ fing."

"I wouldn't have it any other way, bunkie."

"Wot's that you got, Skippa?"

Skipper proffered the willow bark. "Class Six supplies for Kowalski. He's gone organic hippie on us." Kowalski chewed as Private thought hard.

"Class _Six?_ Aren't there only five classes of military supplies here in NATO country?"

"I hold to the Ewe Ess of Ay ten classes even in Atlantis, soldier. FYI, Finland and Sweden do not belong to NATO, but Denmark and Norway do. Go figure."

Private looked confused. "I'm thinkin' politics is over my head, Skippa. Ole comes from Norway and he's such a peaceful chap. I wonder where he is now."

Kowalski spat out the bark. "Oops, sorry, Rico. Dratted wind. Sir, I suggest we head for the moose habitat if you're set on poking the sasquatch."

Faux Skipper bobbed a Romanian tangler maneuver in the breeze as Skipper shivered. The wind got to the small bare bits of skin he still displayed. "Yeah, keep on the move. Form up."

Rico held tightly onto the balloon-dolly-soccer ball-antenna as they set out.

IOIOIOIOIO

Private trod along at the rear of the column nursing his grudge. Sasquatch was an assassin and why his commander thought she could be of any use except as a Bad Example he could not fathom. He fought down the anger he felt at the whole upcoming meeting into a tiny ball and swallowed it like he swallowed the lutfisk: with resentment and dyspepsia. As they slipped through the bars of her habitat and paused to reconnoiter under the tire swing, he could not keep his face disciplined and Rico noticed.

"'Rivate." Rico patted his belly with his one free flipper as Faux Skipper fought to regain the skies. "Clss _Five."_

Yes, right as rainbows, Rico contained ammo enough to do in a sasquatch if she tried anything against the team. Private would have been happier if Rico could contain Class Seven supplies, but a tank was out of the question at least from Rico's gut. It must have put a severe strain on him to belch out the medico bag whenever the team needed it. He nodded and poked Rico's belly with a smile.

Skipper noted the byplay. "We go hot on _my_ mark only." All was dark and quiet within the stable. "Move out."

The commandos caught Sasquatch asleep as she curled by the space heater. Skipper edged nearer to the warmth himself to stop his beak from chattering before he spoke. "Wake up, Sasquatch." He gave the signal for light and instead of Rico's usual upchucked Maglite, Kowalski found the remote to the 52-inch television set and turned the channel to the unused station they claimed in their own habitat.

She did that yawning and stretching thing that reminded him of Private and the similarity took him off guard. "Whuh? What do you harami want now?" She didn't bother getting up. "Brrrr."

He was within grabbing distance of the long arms and put up his guard again. "Never mind that. Has Blowhole convinced you yet that he's out only for him?"

She pressed closer to the heater. "Pblblblblbl. I knew that."

He threw her a curve. "We know where he is."

She batted to midfield and ran to first. "Good on you."

He switched positions and threw her out with a clothesline. "We're going to stop him."

 _That_ got her out of bed. "He's important to me and my kind and now Hugo. Don't." She was tall and strong and a proven danger. The three little able-bodied penguins in an attack stack would barely reach her waist. They didn't waver as their leader continued.

"Tell me what you know about his worms and when we stop whatever on earth he plans to do with them, we might not need to go ballistic on his shiny hide that feels surprisingly pleasant to the touch. We know part of the story already." Hybrid giant venomous worms stank of an unholy alliance between Dave's and Blowhole's capabilities and bent for mind-blowing egotism. Blowhole was the more dangerous foe because he, like Dave, had no qualms about warping Mother Nature's goals by using her own processes against her, but unlike Dave, he showed broader vision than a grudge against penguins and other cute creatures. Maybe it was because he was a _mammal_ rather than a shape-altering cephalopod. He waited for Sasquatch's reply as his shivers disappeared.

"Oh, _that._ The worm thing." Her sagittal crest's fur flattened and she waved in their general direction. "All this gidi over worms?"

"Huge. Poisonous. Dangerous. Worms."

"That are capable of living on land or sea, on icebergs or off." Kowalski preyed on her mountain loving sensibilities. "On _glaciers. On mountains._ They don't even need much water to survive."

Skipper pushed for any sense of decency. "One human crab harvester may have been killed already. She was lost overboard in mysterious circumstances after describing a giant worm to her co-worker." This was exaggerating things. Life on fishing boats was hazardous in the extreme and Sven's theory of Messy subterfuge and the Longing linus kinds of worms hybridizing their individual abilities didn't emphasize danger to humans. He looked closely for some sign of empathy.

She was a slick customer. One corner of her mouth lifted suspiciously. "Did this jibberjabber about worms come about after you did who knows what in the humans' habitat?" She seemed to want to level the field by giving tit for tat with intel. "I saw you tonight." She jerked her head towards where Rico had secured Faux Skipper in the manger.

Well played. "We did what was necessary. It's our job to help animals and sometimes humans, I told you that already." There was no sense in letting slip that they knew she was actually a blend of two animals. Mentions of Dave's lab would also be unwise.

"Do you know about Blowhole's Agent 12?" Her smirk caught on one of her broken teeth and she rubbed her lip quickly.

Damn. A changeup. "We might." They didn't. Grant's Special Blend, they didn't.

She put her hands on her hips and leaned down close enough so that they could see the fur on her head sticking out the way that fur did in windy static electricity-ish weather. Private broke protocol and placed himself in front of his leader. "Here now, don't you try anythin'."

It was important to present a united front and so Skipper did not slap although he wanted to. "Private."

"I --- she --- you ---"

Rico pulled back the young penguin as Kowalski redirected attention to Operation: How To Grill A Sasquatch On An Apartment Balcony Hibachi. "Sasquatch, I suspect Doctor Blowhole was actually _Mad_ Doctor Blowhole to you. Care to elaborate?"

She was rocked as she surveyed four determined penguins, three of them in combat ready stance. "Not your business."

Skipper followed up to his lieutenant's carefully phrased question. "We can play this game all night. We'll leave if you give us something we can use." He hammered hard. _"What the hell would Blowhole do with giant worms?"_

Sasquatch trembled and despite everything, Skipper felt like a bully. "I don't know. He made them somehow. I don't understand any part of his plans except how he wanted to use me to kill you. He's going to pay me for that." She sat in a heap suddenly. "But he never will now, will he. You'll be after him and he'll know I failed to squash you like a, a worm." She looked inward. "I don't want to kill anymore for any reason. What will be, will be."

Rico burst forth for the first time. "Ah-kwatchgrbbystnkykillrfr _mny?"_

 _"Rico! Stand down!"_ But it took Kowalski's firm flippers on his beak and Private's tackling his ankles to stop the spew of violent content from him. He shrugged them both off to cross his flippers over his chest and glare daggers at the breaker of his usual happy-go-lucky mood.

Sasquatch regained some composure. "Whatever." She drew up her knees and locked her arms around them. She rested her head on her knees before looking at them with dry eyes. "You harami. You've done me in."

IOIOIOIOIO

TBC

 


	33. Chapter 33

Skipper suspected what _harami_ meant and since her gaze passed through each team member to settle on him, he owned the insult with stoicism. Now was the time to be firm with her. "I've done no such thing," he asserted. "Buck up. When you realized that he's a hit or miss employer, that was your --- your" --- he cast around for something she could relate to --- "moment of Zen." Now provide an example. "There was Parker who got up in our feathers and expected to be paid for it by Blowhole and just ask Parker _today_ how solvent he is." Now clinch the deal. "Keep up the communications and report them to us. We'll guide you."

Despair settled on her like the night sky's new cloud cover blown in by the strong wind. "It's not just me. It was never just me. My kind are being killed off. Even the Endangered Species List says so." She subsided into muttering something in what Kowalski assumed was Nepali. She kept shaking her head. Once she drifted back into English. "We'll end up like the saola and Hugo."

Kowalski suspected that she was dissociating from the moment as she passed her hands twice in front of her face. After a moment, they fell bonelessly to the stable's floor. She sagged back against the manger and let her legs splay. He discarded the flashback of Parker and Doris _together_ -together to pursue his original line of questioning. "Sasquatch, about Blowhole's mad doctoring of _you_ \--- "

"Space squids! Billy Mitchell's squadron, is he in league with _space squids?_ Can even _he_ be that stupid crazy?" Skipper looked to his lieutenant. "Don't you see it, Kowalski? Space squids, tentacles, long stringy worms like Messy subterfuge --- "

The headache wasn't completely gone yet. Kowalski rubbed his eyes. "And you said _my_ imagination needs dialing back. Skipper, it's Mesenchytraeus solifugus and let's consider calamari-munching, non-team player Blowhole collaborating with space squids." He considered. "Logic says --- "

"Since when does logic apply to Blowhole? Melting the Arctic ice cap because he got bent out of shape over performing for humans jumping through a Ring of Fire? Pulling the moon out of its _orbit?_ Making Chrome Claw to intimidate the world and expecting that a well-placed C-4 charge from Rico wouldn't turn that lobster into mecha _bouillabaise?"_ Skipper made blowing up gestures followed by a hearty smacking of his beak.

Rico slapped his flippers over Private's earholes from behind as one after another of their leader's Angry Words blistered the air. At the last sentence's expletive, he dropped his beak closer to the young penguin's head and hummed the theme from _Hawaii Five-O_ to muffle further B-bombs.

Private rolled his eyes as he twisted free. "Really, Rico, I'm not a hatchlin' any more --- "

Sasquatch took in the four penguins involved with only their own group and busted out crying. "It was going to be beautiful," she sobbed. "The money was going for a stretch of Nepal land in Godavari resort area because the Jumla region that I suggested first is too remote and nobody would witness the Chinese shooting and trapping and dri-driving us off cliffs because they were _hungry for our tri-tips_ \--- "

All four stopped what they were doing and listened to the cry of a heart breaking. "H-He would fund a reserve and our herd would wander in little by little over the border, you see, and when the civilized humans discovered how peaceful we are even though we are called wild ya- _yeti_ and how my kind simply want to be left alone to live --- "

She crumpled sideways and poured out the words to the inside of her right elbow. As she drew up her legs before curling her left arm over her head, Skipper saw how its pinkie was healing crookedly. She still wasn't clarifying 'my kind' and was it -- _could_ it be that she considered herself beyond _any_ kind? Had she forgotten that she was _two_ kinds? He and Kowalski shared a look and Skipper could tell that Kowalski's mind was racing.

Kowalski's thoughts motored as fast as Juan Pablo Montoya in the last lap. She _had_ to be yearning to be just one species again. As she wailed on and on about suburban versus rural sensibilities and how hunters could not justify themselves to suburbanites scrutinizing butchering ways right next door, he rubbed his temples.

"I didn't agree at first, but then he was so smart that it seemed he was right --- he's a lot smarter than me-e-e-e- --- " Her voice changed from a pleasant contralto to a screech reminding Kowalski of Doris' and his disagreement over the beau who took his place in her queue, Harry.

There were too many variables about the _why_ of her possible return to normality when it didn't really count because the _how_ and _when_ mattered more. Kowalski himself would not want to be anything other than a penguin genius. In the end, it was private what species she considered herself and maybe she could never be normal again. He hoped that Skipper would not push for irrelevant intel to Operation: Plug A Blowhole.

"What will become of me now?" Sasquatch ended her breakdown as she lay spent in the dirt of the stable floor. There was little left to say.

Kowalski surprised himself by understanding a female's needs. He waddled closer to her woebegone face and limp arms. "You'll go onward because the only way out is through." He was joined by Skipper and together they voiced the best words she could hear.

"Never swim alone."

It seemed that focusing on the mission had once more risen to the top of Skipper's concerns and instead of _What the hell animal **are** you?_ being his next question, he aired what Kowalski considered a brain fart. "Did Blowhole ever mention allying with one or more space squids?"

Something rallied behind the exhausted gaze. "No. Do you think that's likely?"

The reply reminded him of what Marlene might say and Kowalski appreciated any ally to squelch the space squid tack of inquiry. He suspected that Skipper would use anything to defeat Blowhole or to complete a mission he set his laser-like sights on. It might be Parker's poisonous spurs or Doris' kind, wide-ranging heart or Private's hyper-cute, whatever it took or whatever the cost, he'd weaponize it. It was tempting not to assign responsibility to anyone _but_ his leader, although everyone on the team had to assume part of it to be fair. He spoke up before Skipper could scoff at her doubt.

"We're taking it under advisement."

Skipper appeared to be erasing the ink of space squid involvement. "I may or may not be right on about space squids. I make constant changes to battle plans. Get used to it." He softened. "What I usually do is consult this guy."

Kowalski straightened.

"And bombard with this guy."

Rico's grin was ferocious.

"And get heartened by this guy."

Private gasped.

"So we'll be in touch." Skipper gave the signal for move out. Rico pulled Faux Skipper from the manger as the team prepared to leave. At another gesture, they slid to await him under the tire swing. He saw their quick and easy movements and thrust down envy. "Not much more to say. Help us and we'll help you. If you don't want to help, then at least don't hurt." He pointed to his front. "Not more, anyway." He brushed off a fleck of straw from his thigh. "And we'll _still_ help you."

"Hugo, too?"

"What about him?"

Sasquatch dragged herself upward to wilt into a lotus position. She opened both hands and rested their backs on her knees, displaying scarred palms to Skipper. She took a cleansing breath. "He's my friend. Blowhole promised he would take us both away from this prison."

"You're just trouble all around, you know that?"

"But you need me." She locked gazes with him as a challenge. "And I need you now." She presented her case without dirty looks or even downward twist of mouth. It was a simple, level regard. "Blowhole could return me to Nepal before the monsoon starts in late June. Can _you?"_

"We shall do our best."

Sasquatch dismissed him with a nod. It was a case of one-upmanship in her own habitat, so Skipper allowed it. He paused near the door. "One more thing."

She was wiped out emotionally and he took pity on her. "Do you know what channel to change back to?"

"I could figure it out."

"Don't bother." He plastered himself near the space heater for a final bit of comfort before heading out into the wind. "This is the 'last' button for switching back and forth between the unused channel for lighting and the carrier wave from Blowhole. Kowalski should have shown you how to do it before leaving, but he's taken knocks to the head tonight and he forgot."

She saw which button he was pointing to and nodded again. "Thanks." She rubbed her own head. "There's willow bark stashed in a hollow of the second log up from the floor near where you're standing. Take half to him and tell him to chew it for pain relief and give the rest to me."

Another breakthrough. "I'll do that. Thanks." He retrieved the willow bark and dragged himself away from the space heater. He handed half the bark to her along with the remote and the thing he saw before she pushed 'last' was her chewing the bark and waving a hand over her forehead. It was the same motion that Hugo had made when Sasquatch echoed his words dissing Blowhole. Skipper drew his own conclusions. "до свидания," he said.

"до свидания," she replied.

IOIOIOIOIO

Private generally dropped right off to sleep. Tonight was different. Sasquatch had broken in front of him, spilling deepest thoughts and feelings as he did himself at times. There was a reason for her attack on Skipper and although she had made poor life choices, the scope of her hopes and dreams was revealed to him. It was a noble effort darkened by her savagery. He couldn't reconcile the two until he recalled how much he had desired the Peanut Butter Winkie factory to continue producing the delicious sweet cakes and how he had pushed aside the welfare of Skipper, Rico, and Kowalski to fuel his greed. He was glad the darkness concealed his look of shame at the memory because he _knew_ that he had a tender conscience, he knew it and was trying to toughen up. Everyone had high-oned for joy when the company restructured and extruded high-fructose sugary products as before. He undid the crinkly wrapper of a Peanut Butter Winkie slowly so as not to awaken Skipper.

Skipper mumbled beside him and turned over to face their bunk's opening. Private pressed himself closer to his leader because the wind had changed direction from its prevailing stream and now moaned through the less effective baffle of the ramp. It snatched the candy wrapper and suspended it against the far end of the bunk. He snuggled to share warmth and sucked on his Winkie.

_razzafrack_ "Chuck Charles here." Crikey, Skipper dreamed he was the anchorman again. Private poked Skipper's muscled back.

"Skippa. Wake up."

"New York City citizens were shaken _and_ stirred from above and below when tentacles fribbled from cumulack clouds and the East River to kromitz the gloggles of Central Park Zoo. Upknocking officials promise that Channel 1 slobcasting will be given top prioricycle in its dunnage of the crisis --- "

_"Wakies!"_ He nearly choked on his Winkie and swallowed it hastily. "Roll out! Up up up! Rockgut wants you in his office straightaway!"

"--- and now _here they come! Private! No!"_ Skipper would fall out of bed if Private prodded any harder. He got an idea and tickled Skipper's pit.

"Ah hooo ha ha hee hee! Stop!" His commander thrashed and nearly toppled to the floor anyway until Private hauled on his flipper to save him. With commando reflexes, Skipper's trained body acted from muscle memory and committed Routine 12 on his bunkmate. "Ow!"

Private rolled from under Skipper after propping up his commander's chest from squashing his own any more. "Sorry! You were sleepin' loud."

"Whuh --- tentacles everywhere --- we ran like the wind. And you didn't, Private." Skipper massaged his chest as he settled back. "Ouch. Damn Sasquatch."

"Wot _did_ I do in your dream?"

"You hyper-cuted for all you were worth. They got you anyway and tore --- Well. It was only a dream. _Comparte tu gozo y tus logros con los demás."_ He yawned. "And your actions spoke louder than my words."

"Why?" It was rare to have one-on-one time with Skipper to talk leadership. This was nearly as satisfying as the 'special briefing.'

"You faced the suckers after I ordered you to run. What I planned was to defeat them by regrouping and choosing another option from Kowalski's clipboard, but you did _what_ I wanted, just not _when_. Or you tried, anyway."

"And I died for it?"

Skipper started. "Yes. Um, you might have. The dream ended before I saw. Don't ever do that, Private."

"I should say not! Dyin' by tentacles is not on _my_ bucket list!"

"Aw, drop it." Skipper turned over to face the bunk opening again. "Lie closer and I'll block the wind for you."

"Yeah, it's from the north tonight and it's fixin' to snow." Private pressed his back to Skipper's. He giggled.

"What?"

"Just thinkin.' You're breakin' the north wind."

"Cut it --- cheese and crackers, now I set you off _again_ \--- I mean shut it. As of right now."

"Bonas nochies, Skippa. Hold on, we ought to trade places. You're the one with the holes in his coat." He clambered over to the outside of the bunk. "Actions speak louder than words, you said it first."

_"Buenas noches, amigo."_

IOIOIOIOIO

TBC

 


	34. Chapter 34

"Private was beating up on me so I had to clock him. I'm kidding, it was just a bad dream and I'm moving on now. Stop fretting and grab rack time, soldiers." There was the usual rustling and shifting about until all was quiet in the kitty-corner bunk. Neither Kowalski nor Rico could claim the same in theirs.

"Kropmmtz _tntcls?"_

"It was a wild notion of his, Rico, we all have them. Settle down like Private and Skipper, all right, buddy?"

Rico couldn't give up the subject. "'Kipppaaaah. Tntcls. _Weird."_

"He told me where he fought them after he came back from his first solo mission. He and I got a little drunk on the Gammel Dansk he smuggled home. Let's just say that Atlantis has a darker side." Kowalski massaged his neck. "Good night."

"Nuh uh. _Cold."_

"Our bunk doesn't get the brunt of the draft like theirs does since the wind changed direction to arctic North from prevailing South Southwest out of the Gulf of Bothnia. Hey, you know what? That's like the Indian Ocean's winds changing direction during the monsoons! Isn't that scientifically fascinating?" Rico's silence was answer enough. "Um, we're not freezing like on the ice floe leaving Antarctica, so there's that." Kowalski's head throbbed, but his neck hurt worse. His pillow was all wrong. "Give me your pillow." He leaned over Rico and blocked the bunk's opening partially by making a fort of the two pillows. He lay flat in the growing warmth. "Ah, better."

"Nuh _uh."_

"It's the only option I can come with at this hour. What are you doing? I'm a scientist, not a pillow!" Rico lay his head on Kowalski's belly and stuck his feet in between the two pillows with a contented rumble. "Get off me!"

_"Nuh_ uh!"

"Look here, _Rico,_ the only way you and I work this communal living atrocity is when we sleep _far_ apart from each other." Kowalski bunted Rico's head off his stomach with a pained hiss. "Fossey's knickers, my head thumps and my neck hurts when I move and my shins burn and now there's _you_. I can see I won't get any sleep tonight. The willow bark only took the edge off the discomfort." 

Rico scrabbled to his knees and rolled Kowalski onto his stomach before straddling his back. "Cut it out!" Kowalski tried a stomach pin reversal in the Greco-Roman grappling tradition, but by virtue of his headache he forgot the final movement and blended in a Tai Chi White Crane relaxation posture to form an absolute martial arts mess. "Give, already. I give."

"Quiet, you two!"

"He won't leave me alone, Skipper!"

"Rico, leave Kowalski alone. Kowalski, keep your flippers to yourself. Don't make me come over there. Act your ages, for crying out loud, and remember: What happens in the bunk _stays_ in the bunk."

"Acting now, sir."

"Sowwy."

Rico waited until peace returned, effleuraged the sore neck until Kowalski purred and then flipped him onto his back. "All right. I guess you've earned pillow rights. Lawrence's cyclotron, what are you doing now?" The pillow fort exploded outwards and then pitter-pattered the feet of one daring penguin pooh-poohing the need of light before tripping over the retired slop bucket in the corner and returning. Two pillows slapped Kowalski in the face before he made out Rico's darker than dark outline and that of another penguin's who settled in their bunk. There was a _screeunch_ followed by three _eeeuh eeeuh_ s before Faux Skipper blocked a great deal of the opening space. Rico pummeled the pillows in to obliterate the rest. He plumped Kowalski's stomach to his liking.

"Air, Rico. We'll need air."

"Ahhahaha. Ha. 'Kay?" Rico leaned up to squeeze a flipper between the top pillow and the roof. He waggled it to depress the pillow a bit. Kowalski could not see his friend's expression through the gloom. He pictured the eager to please look anyway.

"It's okay. Pile on."

" _Cannnnballlll!"_

"Ooof."

"I said quiet! _Key-why-ut!"_

It wasn't the most restful night Kowalski had ever had, but it would do in a pinch. 

IOIOIOIOIO

By morning, the feathery snow kept up a steady drift and there was watermelon snow to anticipate. They all looked forward to the simplicity of playing in the snow after breaking their heads about Sasquatch and Blowhole and securing travel to his last known position. Their keeper tossed fish their way and hurried off and a shivering worker operated a snowblower noisily to clear the paths, but guests sought the comfort of home and hearth in the first major snowfall in some time. Throughout the day, every penguin on the island but one became bored. Near the end of opening hours, one bundled up disabled guest straggled in. As he studied the zoo's map kiosk myopically from his PowerChair, he missed seeing a little scarred penguin twirling in the snow with his eyes closed while joyfully honking to the bountiful heavens. The other little penguins stewed in a funk of ennui.

"K'walski, don't take this the wrong way, but I'm sick of your face."

"Private, it's mutual."

Rico opened his eyes after his final revolution and looked alarmed. When his face crumpled enough for Skipper to take notice, the commander stepped in after a significant eye roll that encompassed his entire squad.

"Team, we've got cabin fever. This could get real ugly real fast."

"Is that wot it is? How did we get infected so quickly? Why haven't we ever gotten tired of each other before?"

Kowalski had had a moment to think. He called upon the expertise of an expert swimmer in these emotional waters that generally sloshed over his head. "It's just like Dr. Phil says. We caught it because we're on" --- he sketched air quotes --- " _vacation_ and we don't have regular outlets. I miss my lab. Rico --- well, he carries his **kaboom** with him so he doesn't count. Private misses his ducklings to swoon over and Skipper misses Marlene."

"I do?"

"She's your girl bestie, so yes. You must admit you're good friends."

Private floundered in a rut of negativity as foreign to him as anything could be. "Wot's the cure? I don't like this feelin'!"

"We need a jolt of something new, something unexpected." The falling snow felt good plastering the bumps on Kowalski's noggin and he rubbed it cautiously as he considered options. 

Skipper was still parsing Kowalski's analysis of his relationship with Marlene. He smiled and waved at the lone guest who wheeled past the penguin habitat to favor Imelda and Marcus. There was no need to stage any entertainment and he felt at loose ends. Likely the lumpy old person in the PowerChair would make a quick tour of the zoo and then head for home if he could tear himself away from the warmth of the primate house. 

"Bestie? I guess." Skipper looked bemused and then pointed at an object blowing through their habitat fence. "Hey, catch that newspaper before it falls into our moat!"  With the guest now out of sight, Skipper felt no compunction to somehow return the newspaper that had slipped from under his arm. He held out his flipper expecting it to be filled with the newspaper without further comment.

Private pirouetted like Polina Semionova as he retrieved the newspaper and threw out a stray remark with a sly look as he forked it over. "I wonder how Julien is doin'?" He blinked rapidly and looked as if he'd prefer to take back the provocative words. Skipper's flareup was less than he'd supposed or maybe even wanted in order to end the boredom. 

"Don't mention Ringtail! This is a rest from Central Park Zoo, sort of." 

Kowalski existed to point out inconsistencies. "With Blowhole and a sasquatch."

"Did we _ever_ believe anything will go easy for us? I am not really --- sur--- surprised --- that --- th-that --- I --- he --- oh braap. Oh, _braap."_ Skipper's face fell. "Here's our jolt. Ole is dead."

Dismay settled on the four as they gathered around to look. On the back page of the newspaper was a photo of an outsized rat in a trap with his head at an unnatural angle. A human held Ole's corpse in tongs as if it could zombify and bite him in revenge. As snow drifted onto the photo to blur the sad image, Private spoke his heart.

"The engine for peace has stopped outside the station."

Skipper shook his head. "No. The engineer has left it." He looked sharply around the deserted zoo. "Rico, a Viking's funeral for our fallen Norwegian." They stood at attention as Rico produced a flamethrower to immolate the newspaper. The black ash muddied the melted snow beneath until more snow interred Ole's papery remains.

IOIOIOIOIO

"I don't hold to his lifeview." Skipper said later, pursuing a line of thought for the enlightenment of his team. "I respect it, though, and Rockgut would have, too."

Kowalski added his own twist. "Respect isn't love, and that's from me _and_ Dr. Phil. I would never desert the team for peace, Skipper."

"'Bye, Ole." Rico's contribution to the farewell was short and bittersweet. 

Private searched for a profound thing to say and wound up reciting his duty roster. "Your reread of the Routine Two lecture is noted on your Log, Skippa, along with poor Ole's horrible fate. Wot will Stockholm do without him?"

Rico shrugged. "Live."

"He'll have been inspirin' others to live in peace, that's right, Rico!" Private turned doe eyes to the rest of the team. "That's wot he would have wanted!"

Kowalski didn't have the heart to disillusion his young friend as to what Rico probably meant. "Undoubtedly. Um, Skipper, small towns such as Mariehamn often provide services that larger communities have long since given up in the rush of so-called progress. It may be that a middle of the night milk delivery truck route would take us to the airport area where we could deploy to hunt Blowhole's um, hole in the wall gang."

"And take him down _all in one night?_ How would we get back here? Remember, I'm --- I'm --- well. You know." Skipper's edge was blunted by Ole's passing and he looked tired despite their inactivity during the day. Kowalski decided that Private would need to be in on a scheme to make them all turn in earlier than usual. Not for the first time he wished for their surveillance gear hidden behind the all-purpose pivoting door. He could save the team from trundling back and forth to the moose habitat if Sasquatch could communicate with their own 52-incher. But she was not tech-savvy and what if she --- he gulped --- pushed the wrong button on the remote and they wound up in a three-way call with Blowhole? Nope, tromping through the snow it was.

The milk truck route was an iffy option and not particularly one of Kowalski's best. He strove to put a good face on it. "Averaging our take down time of Blowhole not counting initial intel gathering comes to three point nine seven hours. That's doable, Skipper."

"Includin' the time when the whole zoo was forced into singin' whether they could carry a tune or hit clinkers every other note? And squashin' Chrome Claw? And our first encounter with him when he planned to --- "

"Mathematics says three point nine seven hours, Private. Here, look." He shoved the abacus into the young penguin's face.

"I'll take your word for it, K'walski."

Skipper had a base plan to fine tune and he got right to it. "I get it now. We insert into the milk truck on its way out with full bottles, take down Blowhole and/or his giant mutant worms in three point nine seven hours or less, rendezvous with the same milk truck on its way back to the milk distribution plant with empties, and return to the zoo before opening time. No pressure." 

Rico held up a flipper to signal 'wait.' 

"What, big fella?" They watched him upend his duffel. Soon they peered at a fjordphiliac cruise brochure for eastern Sweden. "The Gulf of Bothnia, yes, Dekarsofjarden fjord is north of us and we are down here." Kowalski's sense of spatial navigation served him well most times. "A foldout map of Åland and hooboy, a map of the city proper for Mariehamn! Here's the zoo and pictures of its amenities, all the better for international guests. And us." A café diagram with healthy stylized cows drinking healthy glasses of milk showed for a corner of the zoo they'd never seen. "And you just _know_ it's organic milk and must be renewed daily! Let's hear it for organic!"

"Yay. Hippies. Yay." Skipper brightened. "But that's a good thing in this case! We're bound to spot a pickup point for the milk and hitch a ride. Take that, hippie Viking solstice worshippers!" 

They high-oned until Kowalski signaled behind Skipper's back to snooze early. He and Rico joined Private in copious stretches and eye-scrubbings until Skipper caught the contagious yawns and flopped into his bunk without further ado. Kowalski set his internal alarm.

IOIOIOIOIO

It was a briefer conversation than usual that night. Skipper could tell that Sasquatch tried to stretch things out, but her inexperience showed and Blowhole was taciturn rather than blustering. He stated everything was 'on an even keel, old lady' and signed off quickly.

Sasquatch turned to the penguins with a shrug. "Sometimes he's like this when he's scheming. I don't know what else to do. If I can't get more out of him, what will happen?"

Skipper led his team from out behind the manger. "We'll improvise. We've got a good fix on his location and a general idea of his monsters and how he makes them. What we don't know is the why. So tomorrow is another day, I mean night, sister."

She leaned against the logs of her stable and smoothed her fur as much as possible. "Will the snow slow down your operation?"

"Hell no! We penguins live for snow and waddling on snow and sliding --- I mean traveling through snow. Just you keep on his good side and we'll see you tomorrow."

She made a face. "No guests today. It was boring."

"It is easier to _be_ busy than look busy."

"I had time to think."

"That can be a good thing." Skipper didn't want to push after her revelations the night before. He waited.

"Can I change my mind about helping?"

"We've told you who he is and what he does. If you _still_ consider him a good bet, there's nothing more I can say."

She frowned and twiddled her heavy chin whiskers. Her brow went up and down as if there were restless thoughts behind it. "I'm not used to being like this. I'm a leader in my own herd and this feeling sucks."

"I hear you." He waited some more, but she had nothing else to offer other than an absent wave goodbye.

IOIOIOIOIO

"Agent Twelve reporting. Mission complete."

"I can a-a-a-a-always count on you to succeed in a surgical strike, Twelvie. You take care now and thanks for delivering the weapon. Breaking you out of Hoboken really paid off."

"Further orders?"

"Ditch the PowerChair in a, in a, let me see ... ditch. Continue cruising off Åland and keep your distance from any large worms in the briny. I made them extra mean."

"All for the greater plan, yes I understand."

"I knew you would. You're my soulmate. Um, I mean, good, g-o-o-o-o-d that you get it. Nobody else around me does."

"Hey, Boss, should I be insulted?"

"Why start now, Blue Four?"

"Permission to crush him for you the next time I see him?"

"What? No! You're my solitary backup with Parker so far away, _they're_ minions more of the -- the --- um --- _something something bo-bleenex, banana-fana fo-fleenex, fee-fy-mo-meenex something_ kind, if you get my drift. I need them until I, er, don't."

"As you wish. Twelve out."

"Don't be a stranger, call me anytime you want so we can chat some more --- oh you're gone. Crabcakes."

"Gosh, you made up a _song_ about me? I don't know what to say, Boss!"

"Blue Four?"

"Yeah, Boss?"

"Shut your pie hole."

IOIOIOIOIO

TBC


	35. Chapter 35

Sasquatch's headache threatened to resurface as she plucked at her eyebrows while attempting communication again.

::Finally!::

::I didn't answer your call because I was asleep. We oldsters need regular hours and when we don't get them we become cranky. Bad mood warning, ayam.::

::The news was worth a call in the middle of the night.::

::I'm here now. Proceed to whine.::

::That's not fair. You're my only friend in this place and I want you to escape with me, I'm _trying_ , don't --- ::

::Maaf. Let's start over. Sasquatch, your call is very important to me.::

::The penguins bullied me again.::

::And you told them to go jump in a lake. Good on you.::

::No, I didn't. I'm taking them up on their offer of help, mostly, oh it's complicated. I want to talk some things over with you.::

::What! Do you think they'll do their best by you when you nearly _murdered_ one of them?::

::They'll help you get away too! They said so.::

::So did Blowhole.::

::I'm reporting to him nightly and they're listening in. I am not good at talking like they are, er, except for one of them. Last night the meadow was grazed to the ground.::

::I have no idea what you mean.::

::The, the information wasn't anything new that they could use. I'm afraid that if Blowhole finds out the bull penguin lives, he'll smack them all down and you and I will be left out in the cold by each side.::

::Blowhole scares me.::

::Me, too. The penguins say that they've taken him on before and won. Hugo, I can't try to kill anyone ever again. It makes me feel cleaner to say that.::

::Now I'm afraid of going with _you._ Perhaps it's best if I remain here at the zoo. I'd not win in any fight with whack-a-doo dolphins or even commando penguins that I outweigh many times over. Something strange happened right before closing, too. It's not every day you get threatened by a walrus.::

::Harreram!::

::A motorized chair carried him in, well in the beginning I thought it was a him. We stared at each other through the glass, as you do. He seemed a run of the mill disabled guest of full years because usually they spend thoughtful time with each animal. For a little while, we both enjoyed the warmth together over aching old bones. Then he pulled off a stocking cap and turned into a young female walrus who hissed like a cockroach and said, "Blowhole says to cool things with Sasquatch. Stay in the zoo if you know what's good for you. Word to the wise." Then she left. I'm shaking now reliving it.::

::The harami! To threaten an elderly animal with a thug! If I were dithering before about jumping the traces to join those birds, I'm not now. That bandar ko chaak.::

::I refuse to go out of this world fighting or get hurt fighting. It takes animals my age a long time to heal and there's not enough of my time left. I don't want to fight, period.::

::So you give up rather than take a risk on freedom? Good to know. You could fight if your life depended on it, right?::

::Sometimes animals find themselves in unhappy situations and live with it. You may discover that one day.::

::The penguins didn't give up even when I nearly killed their lead bull.::

::I am no penguin.::

::Neither am I. Come on, Hugo, stay with me here.::

::It seems you are braver than I am. I must accept that. No, I'll not go with you.::

::I won't give up on this, my friend!::

::Let me know when you leave so I can say goodbye. Thanks for letting me see family before I die, Pendek Orang. I wish we could have had a road trip together. Have a nice life.::

::Hugo! Don't hang up your hands! Hugo?::

::Still here. We can talk later if you like. My three o'clock playtime with my keeper starts now.::

::Later will work. Don't be mad at me.::

::I'm not mad, just disappointed and mainly with me. Eh, here she comes at me with the sign language again. I need to concentrate on her. She's taking my hand, oh tai, _now_ what. Selamat sore.::

::Selamat sore.::

Sasquatch squeezed her eyes shut as she reassured herself. She was _never_ a loner, she was a leader and saw the right way to do things. She did them alone if necessary as she had had to do to utilize Blowhole's plan, but she was _never_ a loner. She wanted Hugo along, but if she were truly his friend she could not force him because his wishes counted. It would be right for him and for her if he would leave and she needed more time to persuade him. Sasquatch sighed deeply at the thought of depending on the penguins whose talents she needed now that she didn't trust Blowhole. In the electronic realm of TV communications alone, she was a calf and not a bright one at that. If --- no, _when_ \--- she was freed from this form and roamed with her herd, this zoo time would seem a bad dream. She must keep her eyes on the prize.

The north entrance to her stable showed a gray afternoon. The snow had stopped and patches of watermelon snow formed in various areas throughout the paddock. On a whim, she sat on the tire swing to propel herself higher and higher. When she stopped pumping her legs, she leaned back to spy the leaden sky with no clouds or birds dotting it to provide a focus. As the air swooshed softly through her fur, the whole world seemed as monotone as the Pure Land without the spiritual joy. She continued leaning back until her momentum slowed and then closed her eyes.

It was all too much. Would Blowhole spill his guts tonight? Could the penguins forge ahead without more information? Would the Danes force their schedule and come early for her? Could the penguins stop her from being stranded so far from home and what would DNA testing consist of? Could she endure it with dignity if it were painful? And what would happen eventually when her dual nature was discovered? She might be put on TV even more than she had been with the king's visit. Sasquatch didn't like TV.

To avoid madness, she thrust herself upright and gave a mighty kick at the white earth. The tire swing spun tightly to its rope's limits and then unwound. Kaleidoscopic views battered her senses and she almost cried out before her stressed brain made sense of them. The stable, the fencing, the stone barrier, and the pine tree's trunk formed static images that became meaningful. Why, it was almost easy to see the future if she opened herself to looking beyond the seeming. Like the stone barrier, Blowhole would continue his plan because he considered himself unstoppable. The penguins were the tree trunk, living naturally as they bowed to the strength of wind so that they would not break. The fencing served as the immediate future, strong metal to bind her in her circumstances yet with openings to see the path beyond. As the swing slowed to its last spin, the stable provided a sense of the home she would return to if she could only keep her head these next few weeks. The stable was man made and her mountains were not, but both offered what she needed to live. 

When the dizziness passed, she stood with renewed purpose. So Blowhole thought he could intimidate Hugo and herself? Fat chance.

When Hugo's keeper brought him to live with her as her companion later that afternoon, she greeted them both with a genteel bow. The keeper plugged in an extra space heater and the two were left alone to wrestle away any awkwardness.

"I _told_ you acting lonely works," said Hugo.

IOIOIOIOIO

"Delayed feed, but we'll take it, right, team? Scooter, tell me all the Rangers' dark plotty plots for acing the Stanley Cup playoffs!"

"They won 4-2 their last game so they may make the playoffs, sir. I'm with you on their chances. Rah Brassard Rah!"

"They're skatin' like blazes, look at that goal!"

" _Ran **gerrrrrs!** Ran **gerrrrrs!** Brodwayblueshrrrtsrah!_ "

"Say, Bonnie, you and Chuck have been spotted at the Rangers' home games lately. Is there anything you want to say to your news crew and New York City?"

"No comment, Scooter."

"Chuck?"

"No comment, Scooter."

"Subtle, much? Foreign assignments together have been known to promote l'amour."

"Go away, Scooter. My ninja skills beat yours at ABC's _Battle of the Amazing Anchormen, comprende?"_

"Aw, nunchucks. You're no fun to banter with, Chuck."

"Exactly. I save it for the right person and that person is not _you,_ m'man."

"I know when I'm a third wheel. But to get back on the ice, the Rangers play the Penguins Sunday. Hornqvist is looking spectacular this season as the Swede From Sollen _tuna_ _tunes_ up his game."

Skipper couldn't resist. "That's an oppor _tun_ ity for the best named team out there, although I'm a Rangers fan all the way to the crease." His squad lounged around him in front of the TV. It had been another quiet day at the zoo. The team improvised a luge display for the few guests in deference to his subpar condition and as they slalomed from the top of the habitat to the snow-covered beach, they scooted him off to the side right before splashing down to frigid watery delights. Skipper took a moment to observe their styles as he awaited their return.

Rico spewed intermittent streams of water as decorously as a suburban home's front porch water feature. Private made as if he were drowning and Kowalski lifted him in his flippers to the surface as his paternal instinct dictated. Kowalski would make a fantastic dad, mused Skipper. It was not likely to happen with Eva, Doris, or anyone else since their lives remained dedicated to their cause. What was more likely was that Kowalski would brood about Bad Guys getting all the Good Stuff when they finally confronted Blowhole. Criminiddly, morphing a peaceful yak species into a killer sasquatch species took the evil mastermind cake. The creation of giant worms was the anchovy frosting drizzled on top. 

A second later when Kowalski dunked Rico's head, Skipper flashed onto how deadly Kowalski could be if he weren't on the side of the penguin angels. Sure, many of his schemes would spin off into disaster, but it only took one success like the mysterious invention that was stolen when they shipped Rhonda to Hoboken to make Mother Earth not so motherly.

When Private's head broke water, the sight of his leader sitting alone in watermelon snow stirred his tender heart. He aimed his splash away from Skipper as he burst out of the water to be at his side. "Wot's up, Skippa?"

"Think melon time." Private shrugged off the water droplets and leaned into Skipper's touch when the alpha preened his neck briefly. "Got a little left. _skjdkth_ Hold still. _slllpgh_ There."

"Look at those two then, like hatchlin's they are." Rico and Kowalski flashed by the beached penguins on their fifth underwater go round of the island. In perfect tandem, they porpoised for the onlookers before making a hole in the water once more.

"I envy them."

"Soon you can swim again, don't you worry."

"Oh, swimming? Yeah, that, too."

Private got up his courage. "About Sasquatch, she could be lyin' about everythin', you know."

" _Thank you,_ Private. I had _not_ considered that option. Of course she could. I still hurt too much to throw out the notion."

"So you're goin' with your gut, then?"

"I am. Next question."

"Queen Pleaseandthankyou says that _sarcasm corrodes the vesicle."_

"It's _vessel_ and she and I would never get along."

"Well, _she_ would try. Sir."

"Go back and play some more. Entertain me."

"Entertainin' now, Skippa." Private presented his butt to the beach before forward open piking into the water. Rico and Kowalski beamed upon his joining them in another three porpoises for the diminishing group of humans. "Skippa's on about somethin', gents," he said on the far side of the island.

"Blowhole and a sasquatch to contend with on a supposed _relaxation_ program will do that to a commander, Private."

"Lembe," concluded Rico. Kowalski led them to the lie out between the Calluna vulgaris and the Viscum album. It was in shade but they didn't mind.

IOIOIOIOIO

"He lives with me now."

"So, Hugo, are you for or against us?" This updated sitch didn't feel like a punch, exactly, but Skipper rolled with it anyway.

"My plan is to get away from here before I swing on the Neverending Liana. She's with you wholeheartedly now and so I am, too. In for a sen, in for a rupiah."

"Whatever that means. Keep out of the way with us when Blowhole calls. I'll take any interpretations on what he says, so listen hard, primate."

"Queen Pleaseand --- "

"Thank you for any future help, Hugo. The end. Now be quiet and scoot behind the manger, he's up soon."

IOIOIOIOIO

TBC


	36. Chapter 36

"Another giant worm off the assembly line! Here's how I did it," gloated Blowhole. Ten minutes later, everyone's eyes glazed over except for Kowalski's. He kept nodding and nearly burst out with a question for Blowhole until Rico nudged him. He twitched and resumed mumbling to himself.

Blowhole had a captive audience in Sasquatch and he knew it. "A transposon is a DNA sequence that can change position within a genome, i.e., jump to create or reverse mutations. The cell's genome size gets altered as much as yours and my worms' did. Class II transposons encode the protein transposase which they need for insertion and excision. E-e-e-e-e-evolution for the win! We masterminds alter DNA inside a living organism, and viola, ordinary worms explode into giants and you became a new kind of animal. You may applaud."

Sasquatch snorted, a small bit of sass that boded well for her general mood. She seemed heartened by having a friend living with her, and Skipper couldn't fault her for that. "A result that I asked for, received, and now you need to reverse since my commission as your assassin has ended. It doesn't get any easier waiting day after dreary day even when you explain your methods."

Blowhole harpooned his minion with an expert's aimed putdown. "Evolution may deactivate DNA transposons, leaving them as inactive sequences. If I wanted to, I could use my Nepal lab to blast your vertebrate cells to evolve you into who knows what. You'd be even farther from your original kind."

Sasquatch ran a hand over her bristling sagittal fur. "Go on. You love hearing yourself spout hot air." She disguised a disgusted shake of the head as a chance to spy on her interim herd. Skipper came away from the end of the manger to make drawing out gestures. After crossing her arms, she nodded to Blowhole to continue as if she knew she were in for a long lecture.

"Because I'm in a good mood tonight, I'll let you get away with that remark. Very well. Here's the skinny." By the way that Sasquatch's head swiveled, Skipper supposed that Blowhole rode his segway back and forth and the background swirling around the iPhone's transmission distracted her. He must be in a fairly large area if he could pace, figuratively speaking. If he were scientifically excited to talk a lot, so much the better. Loose lips sank ships. Dolphins had _thin_ lips, but oh well. 

"Mutagenesis means that a transposon jumps into a gene and produces a mutation inside living organisms such as my worms and oh right, you," Blowhole rhapsodized. _"Excessive_ transposon activity could result in RNA interference so you'd risk becoming a genetic muddle with inactive stretches of genes and oh gads, the genetic splicer works best on plants so you may have wound up a kudzu! Ma-a-a-a-a-agnificent! Blowhole, you genius! You kept your subject within the same kingdom!" Skipper couldn't see Sasquatch's face at this news and didn't want to. She remained stoic as Blowhole talked himself away from delusions of grandeur into lauding the bonesaw set into Dave's surgical table. After a while, the dolphin with the doctor's degree from the internet displayed his skewed version of a bedside manner to his one time patient.

"You won't be the same as before, you realize, because it would take too much time to clone your discarded bits, like your --- "

"I never expected to be _exactly_ as before." There was sorrow and strength in Sasquatch's words. "Not even you can work miracles."

"Far from it." Well. Humility was unexpected. As Skipper suspected, it didn't last long. Imaginative curses that he'd never heard before came next. "Gotta go. We may need to move the lorry. Ciao." Grab onto him, Skipper projected at her with all his might, and don't let him leave. Act interested and do it now. At the moment, he wished he were a sasquatch himself. He could _think_ her through proven interrogation techniques.

Sasquatch canted one hip and splayed a hand on it while riffling her cheek fringes with the other. She cocked her head. "Stay awhile longer, can't you? You've never told me your experiences that led you to where you are today. I'm fascinated." She shifted her weight to cant her other hip and switched hand positions. She jerked as if hearing a strange sound and added a coquettish twirl of chin whiskers. 

Skipper caught movement out of the corner of his eye and snapped his head around. On the fringe of their group, Hugo rubbed his forehead and mouthed indistinct words while shimmying his hips like Ringtail warming up his congada.

Kowalski, Rico, and Private smiled broadly. Skipper shrugged a "What _is_ it?" at them. Rico responded by placing one flipper on a hip and mincing in a circle, batting his eyes. Private couldn't keep it together. He leaned into Kowalski's chest gasping until Kowalski tucked him under his flipper as the young penguin shook silently. Hugo gave them all a dirty look. The orangutan flashed a hand gesture in what Skipper recognized as sign language and since it wasn't ASL, he felt at sea. He hated feeling at sea when he wasn't even allowed to get wet. He rubbed his chest as he strained to understand her technique.

"Today's your lucky day. The patrol car drove right on by. Hmmm, where to start? Once upon a time not too long ago, an innocent dolphin performed three shows a day in an American aquatic park. He little realized that his glorious destiny and his accomplished past were clouded by the Dark Side that is a certain pen-gu-in who has paid the full price for his heinous crimes. That's Skipper, in case you --- "

"I get it. I get it." Sasquatch replaced her impatient tone with a more congenial one after more mutters from Hugo. "Continue, I'm _dying_ to hear more."

"Our dolphin friend wasted months performing and when he became the park's second most popular attraction, he nearly busted his proverbial buttons with pride. Pathetic, right?"

Oh. This was _flirting_. In Skipper's wide experience, it took reams of confidence. Did she have it, that was the question. "You were only second? That shouldn't have been! Who was first?"

Blowhole burbled his exhale in the disgusting way that made their beaks itch. "Two disabled pen-gu-ins who worked in unbelievable tandem in their routine. In fact, they reminded me of Skipper's boresome foursome's teamwork. I forget their names, but they milked their wooden leg and crippled flipper bit until I got sick of it. The cretin humans didn't, though. Right before I busted out, the pair made poster pen-gu-ins for Handicapable Habitats Hub and you're stalling me, aren't you."

"No." She didn't stammer, good on her. "I'm actually interested." Oh ho, Skipper had heard this one on dates more times than he wanted to admit. Now she ought to deploy Routine Number Five: When Speaking With A Techhead, Seize The One Term You Know And Run With It. "So Blowhole, you say that I may be a plant a month from now?" Right on the money, lady.

"I don't want it to happen, so it won't. Have a little faith in me, m'kay?"

"Oh sure, sure. Go on with your backstory, _please."_

"Dolphin Boy gets his genius back, returns to his jim dandy base complete with brilliant plan for ruling the world with assistance by Parker The Platypus, and the pen-gu-ins happen again. Big apocalyptic boom, Dolphin Boy is adrift with his minion on a flotsam raft." The team leaned forward to hear the part of the story they didn't know. "That's me and him, in case you ---"

"I guessed."

"I'm not dead of starvation because Parker fished for me. Have you ever tried to pick out individual fish from a school with just one eye? It's not easy frijoles, baby, and my laser beam just charcoals them. I told Parker I'd pay him on spec from my next scheme if he'd save my life. He did, bless his mercenary heart." Blowhole's mood soared with a prolonged cackle. "When we split up in Cuba, let me tell you the Cubans goosed up their patrol boats when they saw a raft going _into_ their fair country. I dove off it to follow a fishing trawler heading home to Bangladesh and ate what dropped from their nets, Parker made landfall on a beach in Holguín, we keep in touch by coded Tumblr gifs, next question?"

"How do you stay so humble?" 

Hugo moaned and dropped his hands to his sides.

Blowhole's tone was noncommittal. "I see you're bored. Let's save continuing this epic until we're on the artic. Don't want to peak too soon, ness paw? Then we'd have nothing to talk about on the trip."

"Hugo will be able to understand you more than I can. He's quite intelligent." She was playing herself down and Hugo up, accompanied by confirming that Blowhole was no more planning on securing Hugo's transport than he was performing tricks for little Swedish Princess Leonore's fifth birthday party. Skipper sat back to observe interrogation skills blossom.

"Uh-huh. Right." For a megalomaniac dolphin, he sounded shifty. "'Bye now, old lady."

Sasquatch managed not to lose her poise. "Goodbye, Blowhole."

IOIOIOIOIO

TBC


	37. Chapter 37

The image returned to the carrier wave dot until Sasquatch snatched the remote to change the channel to the staticky lighting one. She turned on the group behind the manger with an impatient hiss. "Hugo, I _know_ how to flirt! How do you think I got four calves?"

"That's been a while back, ayam --- " Hugo raised placating palms.

"Oh yes, the rubbing, the licking, I remember all right. Life is simpler now." Sasquatch looked out the north entrance at the moon or where the moon would show through the solidly socked in slate sky. "I have my own share of green memories." She studied Skipper. "It always seemed like the alpha females paired with the alpha males in every herd. You'd think they'd clash too much, but no."

_"Clashing_ can be its own brand of fun." Skipper appraised the ally he'd never dreamed of. "Good job. So we know he's using a large lorry and he's not so crazoid as to not fear the cops and damn, he's got cojones the size of church bells to string Parker along all the way in Cuba."

_"Your_ team's cojones impress me if you bulls can take down an entire base. I never realized."

"Never mind that. You done good, sister, and I don't care the kind of animal you are or where you're from or what you were born."

Hugo stretched and yawned. "Are we through here?"

Kowalski started as if waking from a dream. "Hugo! You _can_ mind talk with Sasquatch! I just tumbled to it!"

"No duh, bird."

"What's it like? I'd like to know for scientific purposes."

"Well, it saves misunderstandings on the one hand and makes more on the other. In short, it's like any other form of communication."

Kowalski thought hard. "Sasquatch, is this also your opinion --- "

She shushed him with a look. "I'm done for the night, penguin. I'm through, Hugo, but I want a walkabout before sleeping. My nerves are shot." Hugo shrugged and curled around his space heater.

Skipper looked closer. She had a tremor going in her left hand. "Waddle with us back to our place."

She looked abashed for a moment. "My kind have a devotion about home we practice at night, even if it's our own dwelling and we've lived in it some time, it's not an always thing but I would like to rededicate myself in your home if you don't mind it's okay to refuse really it is --- "

"Your Sky Spirits are your own business. Let's go."

Skipper was as happy as Kowalski had seen him since leaving New York City. He was nearly skipping in right echelon point position of the small group. The lieutenant waddled slowly in his commander's wingman position and wondered how to break the unwelcome news that he'd been keeping close-beaked about. As they approached the polar bear habitat, he pushed to the front of his team to stall returning to their interim home. It took a moment to spot the bear family because they blended in well with the concrete rocks.

"Hi, Imelda, what's shaking --- cover the Private's eyes, Rico, quick! Cover your own eyes or I'll do it for you and now for Skipper's oh good golly that leaves _me_ out --- "

Skipper backed away. "What the deuce, Kowalski? She's giving her son a midnight snack. It's beautiful."

Marcus unlatched and waved. "Hi! What's up?"

"We can wait until you're finished with him, Imelda." Kowalski stared at a point over the polar bear's left shoulder as she sat cuddling her son. "Um, anything new with you?" Imelda's and Marcus' coats looked silvery in the dispersed light from the flat sky. Kowalski calculated that before long, fog would creep in on little penguin feet and their zoo might lose attendance even more than with snow. At least fewer humans meant that covert operations would be in less danger of exposure. 

Imelda nuzzled the top of Marcus' head before shoving him away. "That'th all for NOW, you RATHCAL. Keep the little mouth THUT tho grownupth can TALK." She ambled to her moat to splash ungracefully before hauling out by the habitat fence. She nudged aside the bars as before and stood on all fours in front of the group to eye Sasquatch with the calm that comes from great power and ferocious fangs.

"The watermelon THNOW ith thtupendouth, I lotht forty more poundth, and _THITH_ one" --- she jerked her head at Sasquatch --- "hath a roomie."

Skipper took control. "We know about him, but thanks anyway. We'll be going now. Stay sharp."

Sasquatch had something to say. "Good on you to lose weight. Feeding littles takes it out of you, I remember."

"MMM-HMMM. And you never KNOW which time will be the LATHT --- "

" --- so every time is precious when they're at this stage. Yes."

Imelda reared to stand on her hind feet. She topped Sasquatch by a head. "THO you're WITH them. Good on YOU."

The penguins headed for their habitat at Skipper's signal. He looked back to see Imelda and Sasquatch raise paw and hand in farewell before Sasquatch followed them. She bent to lift Skipper over the fencing, but this was too much like Kastelholm for Private. "We've got him." With studied practice, the three boosted their leader over as their visitor shrugged and popped a handstand over the fence. She twisted in midair to cling to the fence on the other side. She faced the moat with a grimace while clutching the top rail behind her.

"Don't fancy the water, eh?" Private tried not to sound smug as he, Rico, and Kowalski plunged into the moat to hit the beach on the other side. 

"This way, Sasquatch. Like me." Skipper could waddle along the base of the fencing to the isthmus that the keepers used to service the habitat island, but the pathway was too narrow for her. She sidled on the fencing's bottom rail with nimble size 15EEE heels until reaching the isthmus. The isthmus had a culvert at its bottom to keep the moat's water in one cohesive entity although it seemed broken in two by the isthmus topping it. The implications to her own identity soothed her nerves.

Sasquatch took in the solidarity of the group before her as they high-oned the successful information gathering and consolidation of their plan. After Skipper gestured broadly to make herself at home, she spied the apex of their habitat's housing faux rocks and climbed to the top. She left the world behind as she faced where the waning crescent moon would be, and still was, though she could not see it. She spread her arms and tilted her head back.

Rico pointed at Sasquatch. "Samez bfor."

"Interesting." Skipper slapped Kowalski's butt. "With tonight's intel we can get Operation: Plug A Blowhole rolling full tilt tomorrow. That's more like it!"

Kowalski had to put forth his revisions and he really didn't want to do it in the quarters area of their habitat. Experience and Dr. Phil stated that when delivering unwanted news, it helped if strangers witnessed the event to provide a social damper on cyclonic tempers. He sneaked a look at Sasquatch as she stood on top of their island rocks. A lilting cry hit his earholes. "Skipper, Åland's working week ended last evening and I - I didn't calculate socialistic union rules into our plan. It's not likely that organic milk will be delivered on weekends as on weekdays to a small zoo café, now if it were a large institution such as a hospital or government building that would be different --- "

Skipper hadn't had a good rant in some time. He cut loose despite any outsider onlookers. "What! Do you mean to stand there and tell me that just because the working week is over with that the milk trucks braaping stop delivery for 48 hours? That's disgusting! The zoo is open both weekend days! I've never heard of anything like this, it's another reason to never ever travel outside the Ewe Ess of Ay, it's positively _un-American_ \--- " Kowalski pointed in the direction of the main entrance flagpole where the Finnish flag would be waving if it were daytime. "Oh. Right." 

Their leader inhaled sharply and continued. "Little kids getting contaminated drinks, not to mention oldsters who need their calcium and pregnant humans who likewise need vitamins found in hippie milk --- "

Skipper would hyperventilate and get dizzy if he went on much longer. As his leader's second, it was Kowalski's task to redirect rage into safer channels. He lay the groundwork for the duel. "Sir, waiting until the working week begins once more is far the better option than attempting another route to the airport area in the next two days. We can gather more intel to be prepared. Given that Gavina hasn't broadcast ice worm stories lately --- "

"That we know of, Kowalski. There's no DVR and we don't monitor the TV 24/7."

Riposte. "Nor would we in New York City. Cut us and yourself some slack, sir. As for the organic milk, refrigeration studies show --- "

"Don't give me refrigeration when Blowhole is out there doing something with giant worms, oh braap, worms --- dirt --- ground --- _underground_ , could the Mole Men be in on Blowhole's plan?" Skipper knotted his flippers behind his back and paced faster.

Parry by exaggeration. "Lysenko's lineage, could it be true? Or what about Zookeeper Frances? She's out of work and has oodles of time to fritter on idle schemes! Maybe Clemson and Savio helped --- "

"Clemson is a lemur and Savio is a snake. I'm thinking humans and dolphins plotting together. Keep it real, amigo."

Now advance-lunge. "Do we even know if Mole Men _are_ fully human?"

Private's mind was officially blown. "Skippa, my head hurts." 

"Ngyah," agreed Rico.

Skipper did a reality check as his breathing slowed. "Okay okay. We play it loose. I'm shelving the Mole Men idea until proven otherwise."

Absence of blade. "Well put, sir." Kowalski yearned for his lab. Was it something in the water that promoted these wild ideas? Was Skipper susceptible because of his Kastelholm injuries? Were Sasquatch and Hugo in their mind talk affecting his vulnerable brain consciously or unconsciously? He sighed and took a leaf from his own book: Prioritize to concentrate on what you _can_ fix.

IOIOIOIOIO

TBC


	38. Chapter 38

Sasquatch leaked serenity as much as Ole had as she approached the penguins after her devotion. If he had been in a better mood, Skipper would have remarked on the resemblance, but as it was he flailed his flippers before rounding on her. " _Your_ fault, Sasquatch, that I'm not up to snuff and can't _slide_ or _swim_ or damn well _zip line_ to where Blowhole is holed up and need to be _boosted_ after being fed like a braaping _baby_ for days and days along with, well, you can just guess _other_ humiliating things --- "

She sustained her calm as she crossed her arms and legs before accordioning into a lotus position in the pinkish snow. Skipper spewed the ball of indignation from the past two weeks as he lofted the sphere down the alley to pick up a seven-ten split. She waited until he ran out of wind.

" --- braaping --- liability to the team --- _goldbrick_ \--- " Skipper spun on his heel to grab a drink of water from the moat.

She faced the less disturbing penguins. " _So._ What happened to set off this avalanche in the eight hundred heartbeats from when I got here until now?"

Private remembered how she kicked him off Kastelholm. "He's jolly well right to --- "

Rico remembered how she had ruined Private's first March and growled, " _Why_ I odda --- "

Dr. Phil. Remember Dr. Phil. Kowalski scrambled to save the sasquatch-penguin detente. "We're delayed two days until our plan resumes. The quickest way from A to B is not always at the most feverish pace. You can be right, or you can be happy, but you can't be both. I want you to get excited about your life. Never put more into a relationship than you can afford to lose." What would sound most profound to her? "Get real."

It worked and she nodded gravely. "I see. You all have anger issues with me because you're delayed. Does this mean you have changed your minds about helping?"

Kowalski threw in something that Prince Sharesalot might say. "If nothing ever changed, there'd be no butterflies." It was easier to speak with her as her calm eroded around the edges.

"Wait, does that mean that you _won't_ help Hugo and me?"

Skipper wiped his beak after returning. He sat in the snow beside her. "My word is my bond. We'll help you both. I'm upset about the delay. I _hate_ waiting."

"Why?"

"Why? Because it's a waste of time."

"We're given so much time and no more. It's like that for everyone. You can _spend_ time but not waste it."

"Well then, I've just had _enough_ of spending time waiting for action until I felt better. Haven't _you_ ever had enough of something?"

She undid her arms and examined her nails. "I have. It's why I went to that dive in Hetauda. After enough raksi, Blowhole's plan about saving my kind from extinction sounded rational. I _still_ think it is. I just don't want to do what it takes to be part of it."

"So you have no principles, then? Just willin' and not willin' to do this and that? How do you bleedin' live with yourself?" Private assumed he'd get disciplinary action for this, but there was no lutfisk around so he didn't care.

"Survival of the herd _is_ my principle." Sasquatch huffed after a moment. "Aren't you going to do something about your calf?"

Skipper blinked. "Huh? He's not _my -_ \-- "

"It takes a herd to raise a calf. Everyone pitches in and we push them into the middle of the herd when there's danger and we wallop their bootys when they mouth off. Well?" She made a spanking motion.

"Look, lady, you know zip about penguin commandos. He's not _mine,_ I'm just his commanding officer and he's all grown up so no rump whomping except in a macho sports team kind of way."

Rico fidgeted. "'Kippppaaaah."

"Hold on unless it's urgent. Is it?"

"Nuh-uh."

"Then I'll continue setting Sasquatch straight. This unit helps animals and yeah, humans on the down low. We four are not related, I'm not _anyone's_ father, but we _are_ brothers as deep as blood ties could make us. We've lost team members that we'll never forget. We. Are. The. Penguins. Get it?"

"Got it."

"Good."

"'Kippaaahhh."

"Spill it, soldier." Rico did. "A _telescope?_ Where --- this is Ole's, right?"

"Uh huh. Ndr rozbsh by Ah-kwatch."

"Who's Ole?" Sasquatch leaned back on her elbows to a comfortable sprawl after absorbing the information that this was _not_ a patriarchal herd led by a staunch father. She had wondered about the lack of females in the group. Life would have been almighty cruel to take every one of their mates.

"Ole was a rat we met here. He's dead now."

Skipper gave the telescope to Private, who turned it over and over with a somber expression. "He was a peaceful fellow who died like a, a, rat in a trap. He didn't deserve dyin' in any way, shape or form."

Sasquatch rolled to her side and curled up in the snow. She played with her chest hair absently. "The rat who chatted me up was Norwegian. I didn't have time for that and he quit trying. He started out blethering about stars and then led the spiel into living in peace, you know how some animals grab your fur and get in your face when you're too polite. I stopped being polite a long time ago."

"It was the same rat. He told us he'd tried to speak with you. Private, stow the telescope in the corner by Faux Me. We've got precious little materiel up here and it may come in handy."

"Who's Foamy?"

"Not in the mood for chatting, Sasquatch. We'll be in touch." Something about Ole's character seeped into Skipper's mien. "You did well tonight, no matter what. We'll see what develops over the next two days."

Sasquatch arose. "There's nothing I can do to make you feel better."

"You would if you could in _principle_. It would be in your best interest."

Kowalski ruminated on what Dr. Phil said about welcome changes of subject. "Sir, fog is coming in and by dawn we'll be lucky to see the beaks in front of our faces."

Sasquatch headed for the isthmus on large, quiet feet. "I'm leaving. Sorry about your friend dying."

Private blurted, "There's more to animals than _friend or enemy._ There's just bein' decent and, and respectful like Princess Self-Respectra says --- "

"Call to quarters, men." By the time Skipper took a last recon before heading down the ramp, Sasquatch had disappeared into the silvery stillness.

IOIOIOIOIO

To Private's surprise the next morning, Skipper made no mention of the way his youngest team member's beak ran away with him. In fact, the four went back to bed after breakfast smelts that wafted eerily through the fog from their unseen keeper. Right around noonish Skipper sent Rico to scout for guests and he returned making large zeroes with his flippers. The commander kept a weather eye out for cabin fever as hours passed in glum silence as he seemed to table exercising in favor of brooding.

With the downtime came reminiscences in late afternoon. As often was the case, the four hunkered down in front of the electronic hearth that was the TV without the set actually being on. Skipper needed drawing out, Rico figured, so he began their bull session by slapping Kowalski's butt rhythmically.

"So it's like that, is it, Rico?" Kowalski kept up the Bavarian pattern in turn and since they were both sitting, their bottom slap dance was more of the cuff-tailfeathers-and-thighs variety. It served to make Private snicker while Skipper watched impassively.

"Crikey, Classified and his bunch came through in the _end."_ Private assumed a sly air. " _Eva_ was a crashin' big part of comin' to help us and K'walski in particular, I'd wager."

Kowalski smiled at the memory before crossing his flippers over his chest. "One kiss does not a relationship make, Private."

"Wot does?"

"Years. Years and years, ups and downs, give and take, seasons in it like spring and summer and Antarctic winter. And then it's spring again and you never know where you stand and it's grand adventure sailing the waters."

"Sounds like you'd get bloomin' seasick."

"That's the glory of it."

"It's too much. I'm not ready."

"You will be. You'll have a Doris or Eva in your life."

Private's sure instincts as unofficial morale officer said to lighten things up. "As long as it's not a Blue Hen."

"Urk." Kowalski swallowed wrong and by the time he'd recovered, Rico had nodded and put a more goofy expression on than Rico-Normal to resemble Shelly's lovelorn look. "Yeah, there's unwanted attention, too." He brightened. "All part of romance, Private. It's worth it, worth _more_."

Skipper got up to secure a cup of coffee, still silent.

Private gave up on the indirect approach as he stretched and stood. "I wish we had the north wind at our back, Skippa."

"They are around somewhere and if things come to a not-so-pretty pass, we'll do our best to contact them for help against Blowhole, Private. Are you doubting your team's ability to --"

"Wot I meant was the breeze. The fog is so still that it gives me the collywobbles and it must look out there like the Eternally Foggy Sea. I don't fancy not bein' able to see far." He looked unhappy. "And the sounds comin' from every whichaway I _hate_."

"Come here." Skipper put down his coffee and snagged the young penguin's head under his flipper. He groomed Private's face including anointing his eyes with the preening oil. "Remember Rico's briefing on this technique a few days back --- actually it was Kowalski's interpretation of Rico's briefing but let's not quibble --- and the effect won't last long, but it'll help you see better because of the snowcones or something in our eyes." He winked at Private before releasing him. "If you want a better explanation, ask the Science Guy and prepare to be bombarded with Tee Em Eye."

"Sir, I can hear you."

"I know you can."

Kowalski wouldn't take this lying down. He loomed his greater height over his leader to back him in the corner up against Faux Skipper and the real Skipper backpedaled in a good-natured way. The tension in the quarters amped up from frustration over the delay to confront Blowhole and the lack of performing for guests added to their need for physical release. Skipper's grin faded as Kowalski pressed harder to invade his personal space. Beak to beak, Command Division glowered at Science Division and until Rico whispered his plan to Private, the young penguin feared that a true fight would break out despite them all being friends.

 _"Rvrdaaaaants!"_ Rico spun like a Texas twister before shoving Faux Skipper between the two would-be pugilists. He thrust Skipper's mighty righty into the nook of Faux Skipper's left pliable plastic flipper that was forever in akimbo position. He nodded at Private, who shoved Kowalski's left Part A into Faux Skipper's right Slot B, grabbed Kowalski's right flipper with his own left one and set off dancing. An appropriate phrase bubbled up and he blurted it out.

_"Erin go bragh!"_

Rico commenced the riveting dance moves on his end and they proved contagious. After a jerky start, the four pranced like their lives depended on performing the energy-draining steps as Faux Skipper kept up effortlessly. Five minutes later, Flesh-And-Pint-Low-On-Blood Skipper dropped out and gasped "Routine Eleven!" on his way to the floor. Twenty minutes after that, Routine Eleven: Stay Fit And Healthy Until You Die lived up to its name as the three collapsed. Switching to a vigorous can-can had proved the last straw.

Picking up his Faux self, Skipper observed his squad coalescing into unity again as Private stared back at him discerningly from the floor. "I see better _gasp_ or um, _different,_ after the preenin' _wheeze_ now, Skippa _kaheeeorp_ you seem to _pantpant_ glow like a Japanese lantern, quite pretty, actually." Private rolled his head to see Rico with his beak agape recovering beside him. "And Rico, you _gasp_ look different than _ahhhhh_ he does."

As his team acknowledged, Kowalski never missed an opportunity for a lecture. "We could weaponize _hahahhahahhaaaahhhh_ the ultraviolet aura effect to keep track of each other in dim lighting, but how often _kaffkaff_ will we have the leisure to preen each other before _wheeeeze_ battle?"

Skipper smacked one flipper into the other after elbowing Faux Skipper away. "We won't. Good call, soldier," he said, and like _that_ , the focus returned to accomplishing the mission. "Damn, damn, double damn, triple damn, hell. I wanted to sweep and clear Blowhole before St. Urho's Day. The day after is St. Patrick's Day and we could have had real reason to celebrate. I don't know now, I just don't know, men."

Kowalski regained his feet and his breath. "The Ides of March come the day before St. Urho's Day and is this delay a warning to beware moving against Blowhole until the Ides are over with?" He stroked his beak as his commander did a double-take.

"That sounds like something that a certain lemur would say about his Sky Spirits. Don't tell me you are getting superstitious, Science Guy. I wouldn't have thought it of you."

Rico placed himself between Kowalski and Skipper. _"Stpfite. Nao."_ He was serious, Skipper saw, and so was little Private.

"Cool it. Sir."

For the second time in as many minutes, Skipper did a double-take. "Aw, relax. This is just talking. Extrapolate from my tone, soldiers."

After a judgmental look followed by a nod, Private waved Rico away and rubbed his eyes. "Rico, you've stopped glowin' and so have you, K'walski, and you, Skippa. You're back to normal not-pretty." Rico sniffed haughtily at the slam before turning to his bunkmate for consolation.

"Good, so let's concentrate on the mission _again._ " Kowalski spoke up, clipboard at the ready. Rico turned his back on the rest of his team and sat at the front of the class as Kowalski tapped the pencil against the study aid. "We know this: Blowhole makes giant deadly worms for Purpose X and wants Skipper more than out of the picture so Purpose X can happen. He wants Skipper _dead_ and his team demoralized afterwards so to not stop his super-dee-duper evil plan. He'll fail because we have a mole in his organization. We know it's _especially_ evil because he has been escalating his eviltude with each scheme, Private, so put down your flipper."

Skipper made a moue from the back of the class as he mock-threw a spitball at the teacher. "If I had died, you'd have carried on. Come _on_ , Kowalski."

"Of course we would have, sir. No question about it. But we _would_ have been stunned at a critical time, just as much as you would have been if his plan were to take all of _us_ out to deprive you of troops."

Hit. Kowalski acknowledged satisfaction at the way his leader looked shocked. "I - I hadn't considered that. Way to go with options about thinking like a criminal mastermind, soldier."

Kowalski swelled his chest until he concluded that this was not the compliment it seemed. "Er, thanks. Now onward to results."

IOIOIOIOIO

TBC


	39. Chapter 39

Deep in thought, Kowalski nibbled the end of his pencil until he spat out the eraser. It bounced onto the floor and into Rico's left nostril. Rico sneezed and the three took cover, but nothing other than spray came out. Kowalski spread his flippers in apology. "Uh, ha ha, went a little too far. Sorry, Rico. Er, back to making the most of our delay to gather improved intel to ensure the best takedown, now, ah, the results will be worthwhile, but the next option is reaching some."

"Zowhut _elz_ iznew?" grumbled Rico.

"Er, hehheh, this depends on Sasquatch relaying disinformation to Blowhole. Given what we know about both of them, they like to hoist a few."

"There are no taverns at the zoo, Kowalski." Skipper frowned. "We don't know the city well enough to have her suggest they meet off zoo grounds for a booze fest. Give me another option."

"A moment, sir, and you'll understand this one with a single word: henbane."

Skipper made a rude noise. "You can't be suggesting getting chickens in on our plan. This zoo lacks a Petting Zoo with cackling fowl, or didn't you notice? Are you looking for another genius egglayer?"

"Nobody is smarter than the Blue Hen --- uh, strike that. As I was saying, henbane, a widespread weed containing scopolamine which is _truth serum_ , plays a part in getting Blowhole's pie hole to open wide about _why_ he wants Purpose X to succeed so badly that he commissioned a _murder_."

Private felt obliged to add, "But, K'walski, it's not spring yet and all the greens are frostbitten browny stems. How would he find your slopeamean?"

Kowalski gravitated to the one penguin who didn't scoff at his option but merely questioned its implementation. "There's a patch under the weeping willow where Skipper harvested my pain meds and I spotted some in the forest on your March so we know it grows around here. Private, you'll like this part. Henbane is also known as hebenon."

"Ooooh, Hamlet! Hebenon is the only part of the play I didn't understand!" Private tapped his flippertips together and showed doubt in troubled blue eyes. "But, K'walski, when Hamlet's uncle fancied his sis-in-law bad enough to kill his own brother by pourin' hebenon in his earholes, it was _murder. We're_ not the murderin' kind."

"Shakespeare's jerkin, I know Blowhole's weight and metabolism speed like I know my own after all our encounters with him. I can gauge the right amount of henbane to give it a kick but not kill him and Sasquatch can relay it while acting sloppo enough to lure him in. We give her real henbane to show him what it looks like and she palms it to add something innocuous to her own drink. Addictive personalities like Blowhole and Sasquatch always have a yen for that extra zing to their habit."

"Why?" It took Rico to ask the obvious.

Kowalski's confidence blossomed. "Because if Blowhole has been waiting for Sasquatch's departure to Denmark for over two weeks, he's bored out of his _skull_. Think about it --- no state-of-the-art humongous lab to tinker in, on the outs with his sister if she even knows he's alive so no family chitchat, Parker six thousand miles away, no friends because Dave is absent and Blowhole isn't the type to have _friends_ like regular dolphins do anyway --- and you'll reach the same conclusion that I did. Bored Blowhole, looking for a kick. Probably has a bar in his lorry loaded with booze. Bring Sasquatch in to drink with him on their two-way TV Quasi-Oktoberfestkindgestalt and we'll gather more intel than the law allows."

Skipper remained agog at Kowalski's analysis. "Whoa whoa whoa! We heard him say he's made more worms. How is he doing it from here? He sounded jazzed about that, not at all bored."

"But there's nothing more tempting than a scientist's yearning to have flippers-on experience in the creative process! I calculate that his iPhone transmits instructions to the Nepal lab regarding manufacture and transport of the giants to Arctic waters. It's possibly completely automated although I'm not sure about that part because his Blue Crew are around for _something_. It's more ambitious a plan than he's ever --- had ---" Kowalski trailed off.

"And you envy him?" Skipper's leadership honed in on his troops' needs and he could state with no one contradicting that he knew his team as well as any penguin _could_ know another.

Kowalski stayed strong as he met his commander's gaze. "I didn't say that." 

"Yeah, I gathered as much when you figured out his Invisibility Ray machine's controls enough to stop it but not enough to invent one on your own." Skipper looked to reassure his second in a non-sappy way. " _We_ like you just as you are, man."

As long as the subject came up, Kowalski decided to clear his conscience. "Uh, Skipper, about the Invisibility Ray machine, I'd like to confess --- "

"I know, I know, you got jealous, but you're a good guy and good guys don't always finish last. The Endless Iceberg is full of 'em and where else would any sane penguin want to live for eternity?"

"You _still_ don't see --- I give up. Moving right along, henbane used to be an flavoring ingredient in beer centuries ago and you _know_ how trendy flavored beers are at the moment --- "

Skipper blew a raspberry. "They're nausorating. Puke. Hurl. Barf. Stand down, Rico, I didn't mean you."

"Aaaand your purist notions aside, Blowhole adores cutting edge everything, so he'll send Blue Whoever to the verge to scout around for some. Then Blowhole and Sasquatch party together in the cool way that folks do nowadays, you know, on devices rather than actually being in the same room. We dose Sasquatch with fish oil beforehand so she doesn't absorb alcohol as much. The plan is solid _enough_."

"What if Blowhole goes for something more sophisticated? A good bourbon, for instance?" 

"I knew you'd bring that up!" Kowalski crowed. "He'll still want to experiment, because newest on the hootch market are smoked maple bourbon, citrus vodka, botanical rye, _chocolate_ artisanal whiskey --- "

Rico broke in. "Marshmeowmeow rum?"

"Sorry, my friend, not yet. I'll keep you posted. But the point is, Skipper, that Blowhole is likely drooling for a fellow boozer to party with. If he has home-brewed raksi on tap, we're up against it with my plan, although we actually have enough intel to zap him right now." He looked down. "You know overkill is my weakness. I want this delay to be good for _something._ "

Skipper headed to the front of the class as if for Show 'n Tell. "Chill out. You can never be too prepared. All right, Operation Boozehound is a go. Sasquatch tells him she scored some beer left behind by the fly by night vendors from the king's visit, she lets it drop that she's got a lil' e-e-e-extra shomething in her drinkie-poo, and we listen to what she makes him spill." He paused in the midst of giving his lieutenant a macho manly swat on the butt. "Waaaiiiit a minute, what if he's become a solitary drinker?"

Kowalski cleared his throat. "Dr. Phil says that solitary drinkers are morose. Any dolphin with a laugh like Blowhole's when he shows positive _glee_ over having the _temporary_ upper flipper over us is just the opposite."

Skipper dropped his own flippers to his sides. A wave of conflicting feelings washed over his face and what was left on the beach was not pretty. "It's on, then. I'm always up for getting something back on Blowhole for that mind jacker ray. I didn't act right for weeks. Um, _days_ , I mean days." 

Kowalski mouthed, "It was _months_ ," behind Skipper's back. 

"But I'm myself again." Rico waffled his flipper in a comme ci, comme ça gesture that his commander chose to ignore.

Kowalski was on a high after getting his boozy plan approved. He seemed to forget that Skipper could hear him, or maybe he dissociated himself from the scenario of getting back at someone as revengeful as Blowhole was. Skipper and his crew weren't like that. They weren't. "He's himself again, he says. It's just that himself comes up with these ideas, like stopping homeschooling. I mean, really, what do we care? And don't give me those big sad eyes, Private! They're humans. We're birds. Get the difference?"

Private thought of Shawna. Rico thought of fish. Skipper used biofeedback to get his blood pressure under control after humming _when you feel an anger wiggle calm it with a jolly giggle_ didn't work. "That's on the back burner for now," he acknowledged.

"Pfah, Skipper, the odds are ninety-eight point six per cent chance against --- "

"Don't quote me odds again!"

Kowalski got exasperated. "What do Vikings have to do with our mission statement of helping one animal at a time?"

"Have you seen their helmets? Some mammal _died_ for a stupid hat!"

It was straightening out those little bits of misinformation that made Kowalski what he was. "Technically, Skipper, animals can be dehorned without --- "

"Ah bup bup bup! Don't confuse me with scientific jibber jabber! Even mammals don't deserve to be without their horns. How would _you_ like to be without your beak?"

Private and Rico formed a coalition to get the two back on teamwork track. "It's telly time! Turn on the telly, Rico. Skippa, you sit there and K'walski, you sit there. I'll sit between."

Rico made up a new curse word for the occasion. " _Pinfederers,_ shaddap!" Like a rosary with only four beads, Rico, Kowalski, Private and Skipper sat in a row to allow the alpha waves to soothe their brains to mush. Commodore Danger's rugged looks flashing onto the screen in _From Sweden With Furniture_ made Skipper smile and he gestured to Rico for the remote, but Rico twisted away and kept surfing since the broadcast was dubbed in Swedish. There flashed by a Teletubbies marathon that Private squealed over and a nature documentary on butterflies that made Kowalski sit up straight and still Rico lorded dominion over the remote. "Ahhhhh," he said at last. 

Gavina Formes chirped as sprightly as before. "If you're just tuning in, other polite news confirms that Tuscany's restaurants' revolutionary method of fly control is ready to sweep the service sector worldwide. Here's a sample of their method." A YouTube clip reeled in front of the penguins showing two industrious chefs slicing veal on a butcher's block. Suspended from the ceiling were baggies one foot above human average height at each corner of the block to form a fortress of cleanliness. There was a black numeral on each baggie that even penguin vision couldn't make out. "You can see this technique is green and not mean to the flies. And now for Arctic news." The clip irised out to a jumbled mess of gray with splashes appearing and disappearing on the screen. 

"Apologies, viewers, we are fortunate to receive the transmission from out at sea in any clarity whatsoever. Please bear with us. Jan, Michael, Vincent, get on this problem right away as Polite News continues coverage of the ice worm mystery. Our man, Sven S.C. Formes, no relation, has been joined by Jeremy Wade's protegé Richard Koenig in Svalbard to sort out what is happening in the deep and on icebergs. It's a natural partnership and we welcome the young man's experience." Gavina's tone turned serious as she removed her earpiece to twiddle it. "It is my hope that this news remains polite. The possibility of a giant ice worm dragging a fellow harvester off her boat is daunting to me personally. As regular viewers know, I angle in my spare time. There's nothing like putting a meal on the table through your own efforts."

A squeak emanated from the earpiece. "Ahah, let's see now." She brushed aside coppery hair to replace the device after adjusting her spectacles. "Ready? Oh, audio only for now? Go ahead, Sven."

" --- _frzzz_ \--- sweetness, I could use your worm expertise although our ship's churning and heaving might make you indisposed." There was a squiggle on the screen followed by a _kerbpshpt_ as the visual resumed with the audio. Sven's all weather gear showed a yellow as bright as Eggy's as he sneezed capaciously into his elbow. "Crappy headcold won't leave me alone, er, sorry, Gavina."

"It's all right. Take care of yourself as best you can. Tell our viewers your location, Sven."

"One klick off Bråsvellbreen glacier on Nordaustlandet. The island is nothing like I remember, Gavina. _Rainbow Warrior_ is in the area and reports no onland walrus activity, either. The poor beasties must have been frightened off their lie out by our prey."

"Prey? Surely you will catch and release?"

Sven grabbed his cameraman's instrument and shoved its lens close to his face. There was a scuffle until Sven hissed something in Norwegian to his film crew. The penguin team found themselves staring beak-to-red-nose with Svalbard's best science reporter. "We might not have a choice. My colleague agrees that the sheer size of the creature could swamp this boat and its rumored deadly barb is not to be trifled with." Sven moved the camera off himself and pointed it towards the bow of the boat, where another yellow slickered person stood poised like a doughty figurehead. Even though the human's back was to him, Skipper discerned the admirable focus and resolve common to the River Monster guy who now turned his talents to solving sea mysteries. He high-oned his teammates.

"We'll get action! Hooha!"

"Now we'll see somethin'! Anybody workin' for Jeremy never gives up!"

"Why can't girls be more like Jeremy? Er, I mean, a human to trust, for once."

_"Hedamaaaan!"_

From her studio came Gavina's worried voice. "Sven, it's turning dark. Won't you drop sea anchor until dawn and then set out for the glacier?"

Sven's big grin lit up the scene in the ebbing daylight as he hogged the camera again. "You know as well as I do, lovey, fishing is when you find it. He and I both --- "

Sven remembered what a dramatic bit of news footage required as he aimed the camera at the bow when a hoarse cry sounded there. The yellow figure pointed towards the glacier. "We're off, Gavina! Wish us luck!" 

IOIOIOIOIO

TBC


	40. Chapter 40

The cameraman's coverage continued jerkily after he joined Richard, Sven, and two sturdy sailors clambering over the boat's side into a dory. Sven immediately proceeded to the prow as if he could make the dory go faster by sheer willpower. The coxswain gunned the engine. After panning for whatever Richard had seen breaching and finding nothing, the camera swept Bråsvellbreen glacier as it stuck its icy tongue into a choppy sea off Nordaustlandet. The camera lingered on a waterfall sluicing through the glacier to plunge oceanward as shadows grew long. Sven looked back towards the camera, his usual ready smile replaced with a steely determination rivaling a penguin's. He sliced his hand across his throat after a spasm of sneezes.

The screen returned to Gavina. She faced her audience with aplomb. "I've known Sven for years. He's fearless as Ernest Shackleton when it comes to exploring." She ran her pearl necklace through her fingers before folding her hands in front of her. "Let's recap. Sven's theory regarding giant Antarctic worms in Arctic waters agrees with mine in these points: Lineus longissimus, the carnivorous nemertean found off our coasts, and Plectus murrayi, the algae-eating Antarctic ice worm that manufactures its own antifreeze, contribute traits to an omnivorous hybrid that menaces our fragile environment and possibly individual humans. My colleague is asea to investigate fishing vessels' recent spotting of a worm, or _the_ worm if Sven's theory is correct, on an uninhabited island in the Svalbard Archipelago. He assumes it is one creature with fantastic cruising ability due to its size."

She tapped her earpiece, listened briefly with a questioning air and then continued. "Where I depart from his theory is consideration of their origin, because certainly the distances between little Skorpa in Norway, faraway Iceland, and Svalbard mean that there is more than one. How are they spreading in this part of the Arctic now being termed the Kraken Triangle? Cryptozoologists eager to brand name the phenomenon consider worm sources from as bizarre as Atlantis super science to --- Naomi, what's happening? Of course, go ahead, do the split screen. Viewers, here we are, back with Sven, Richard, and the fearless crew --- God in heaven!"

Skipper glued himself six inches from the screen and the others formed a corona around him while he rocked on sea legs as if voyaging with the modern day Viking explorer in his dory. "There! On the glacier! Watch out, Sven! _¡Peligroso! ¡Ay Dios mío!"_

"Crikey, it's a monster!"

_"Hrazzztomfjordmimplotz!"_

"Yellow, orange, and green spots, body the color of Alex The Lion, approximately twenty feet of unknown total length showing from this angle. It's flattening itself to keep a low profile and Roy Chapman Andrews' _eggs_ , it's rearing above their heads as the dory reaches the glacier! Now it's --- it's crashing down and oh! They're in the water. This is not good."

The cameraman's waterproof camera showed bubbles and then fist-sized chunks of ice surrounding the five men as they struggled to the surface. Life jackets propped the group up in the frigid water with the capsized dory bobbing in and out of the frame. The camera followed Richard Koenig's motions but the sound appeared lost as the man mouthed what looked to be "Fish on!" in a jaunty fashion. He and Sven had lost the hoods to their yellow slickers and the sailors' knit caps joined the hoods in Davy Jones' sports locker.

Skipper supplied advice because he couldn't help himself. "None of you men look hurt and Richard says what Jeremy always says when he's caught something. Way to go, Richard. Now don't get cocky, hold on until the boat comes because you humans can't tolerate the cold water like we can --- hell's bells!"

Gavina clenched her hand to her earpiece so hard it must have hurt. "Sven! It's sliding off the glacier and into the water oh God it's disappeared below you where is the bloody boat --- "

The penguins wrung their flippers as the cameraman fulfilled his duty to his profession until his possible end. He splashed away from the group of flailing men to get a full shot of Sven, Richard, and the two sailors as they bobbed back to back in order to provide a defensive perimeter. Sven brandished a fist at the darkening blue sky as whitecaps began to form. He howled something they could not lipread.

Skipper shook the 52 inch television set. "Yes! Do that! Show the braaper your war face! Just _stay alive_ until the boat reaches you it's only a klick away where in the hell is the lousy underpowered piece of --- "

Rico was too upset by Sven's predicament to cover Private's earholes. Private shrank from the horror he was witnessing and the two clutched at each other in mutual comfort.

Gavina slapped both hands on her desk as she shouted at the scene with all illusions of politeness thrown out the porthole. "Sven! Richard! Hang on oh where in the f--- " The split screen frazzled to interrupt her words until the television screen showed only the frantic ocean scene in deference to her lost composure. Undoubtedly, her director chose the more newsworthy view to pursue as the waiting grew unbearable.

Kowalski dealt with the tension in his own way. "Multiply knots by one point one seven to get miles per hour. Estimating thirteen knots per hour which is this boat's class top speed so twenty-two point one miles per hour stands. The boat is one klick away from the glacier therefore zero point six two miles out and so reasonably the boat could reach the glacier in approximately two minutes if it were already at speed but it's starting from _dead in the water this is going to be an awful five minutes, Skipper."_

"I know, mi amigo." Skipper's frenzy turned to icy calm. "We wait."

Kowalski's internal alarm buzzed at two minutes out. "Three minutes more."

The penguins listened to Gavina's crew bewail the lack of sound as the woman's necklace clacked with her fingering. She snapped directions to the technicians to no avail and subsided into hyperventilating loudly through her microphone. "Here's a paper bag, Ms. Formes." The voice sounded kindly but footsteps receded as the someone walked away without further comfort. The paper bag crackled as Gavina breathed into it.

The feed showed Sven and the others shivering as the cold soaked next to featherless human skin. The cameraman's grip shook and the compensation built into the camera for jiggle could only do so much. A tremor worse than any others vibrated the camera as a wave filled with icy chunks surged and the group lifted to its top. From out of the sea rose the worm with its stylet everted.

"That's a big needle and it has _barbs."_ Skipper backed away from the screen. "I was almost over my needle thing, too, but check the size of the barbs. One stab and we'd shatter with splatter." He resumed his attentive stance close to the screen after a moment. "Sven, you're in for the fight of your life. Be a Viking of the _good_ sort."

Alpha worm sized up alpha menace and struck out at Sven. The first blow missed as Richard shoved Sven aside and the six foot lance plunged into the salty sea. Richard tossed his head back and laughed in the exuberance inherent in discovering a new species as he wrapped his arms around what could be termed the creature's neck although there was no bulge to indicate a head. The man's weight did not impede the worm as it reared back to savage again. Slime issued from around the exit point of the proboscis from the soft mouth parts of the chimera. Richard wiped it from his face with one hand and screamed after some seconds. He scoured his face with both hands as he slid off the creature to splash in front of the cameraman, whose courage failed. The camera showed four men getting smaller as the cameraman swam away from the fracas.

Just as the cameraman appeared to swim to safety, a loop appeared in front of the lens to cover it. It was as if a dank beach towel slimed with fish milt stuck to the lens. There was still no sound and now no picture. The feed returned to Gavina's studio. She sat stiffly at her desk, paper bag forgotten as it lay by her right hand. "Follow this story on BBC Regular News tonight. Polite News can no longer be responsible for its gravity." She looked gutted.

Kowalski kept faith with his dedication to Science. "One minute until the arrival of the boat." That was all anyone said until Gavina's hoarse voice broke the silence once more.

"V-Viewers, the sea may have claimed five souls today. Poor Sven, he did have such a terrible cold. I mailed him my homemade remedy, but he won't need it now." She shook her head and wiped her eyes. "It is one minute until the boat reaches our braves. As soon as we know their status, we'll inform --- Wait! Here now!" The part of the worm that resembled a tentacle unstuck from the camera and through the slimed lens a grisly spectacle unreeled twenty feet away.

The current in the white-capped ocean did not favor the cameraman's swim away from danger and his limp hand floated palm up before his camera's lens as he drifted back towards the glacier. The harness did its duty securing the camera to the cameraman's torso as the view tilted down into the trough of a wave and then up to the sky that would shortly turn to indigo. As the penguins watched, a chance wave lifted the man's body and the view changed to the dory that had turned turtle.

Four desperate men clung to the dory's rocker bottom. There was no keel to use as handholds and they scrabbled to stay together. The coxswain steadied Richard as Jeremy's man passed his hand in front of his face to scrub away clinging venomous slime. As the cameraman's limp form touched the dory, its momentum bumped the damaged vessel closer to the vertical calving ice. Sven's forehead ran with blood but he retained his strength as he reached for the drifting man and hauled him up with one hand as the camera continued recording. For a bizarre moment, Sven in profile seemed to have lost his presence of mind as he deliberately let go of the dory and stood in the water with head and shoulders above the waves. He blew a kiss to the sky.

"Wot?"

Rico let go of Private and gesticulated with appropriate jubilant sound effects. " _Huzzahvenshelf!"_

"Rico is right as rainbows! It's an ice shelf under the main glacier, we _know_ how glaciers thrust only their shoulders above water when they reach the sea and leave the rest of their big bums to Imagic-Nation --- "

 _"Soldier!_ This is not Lunacorn time and you're --- absolutely right. Good job. So he's standing on an unseen ice shelf and the rest of them can, too, until the boat gets there --- "

"Skipper, thirty-five seconds more and it ought to arrive --- "

The penguins gasped as the worm again attacked and this time found its mark. Water geysered off the column of its body as its barb snaked towards Sven's throat to deliver a glancing blow. Sven dropped the cameraman's body to clutch his throat with both hands. He sank into the water with only his mohawk showing until Richard scrambled over the dory's nearly flat bottom to press both hands against the flow of bright arterial blood. The camera showed two more forms joining Richard and Sven on the shelf with Viking warrior might, one to take charge of the floating cameraman and one to scout wildly around for the worm's return.

The worm vanished into the deep, the camera displayed a support harness lowering from the boat's gunwales as a gaff snagged the dory, and at last the camera's feed died along with the day's sun. Twilight descended in the penguins' part of the world, too, as Gavina's sobs echoed through her studio. A Teletubbies slide with _Technical Error Please_ _Be Politely Patient_ emblazoned on it replaced her trembling form as she slumped over her desk with unstrung pearls scattered on its surface. Skipper switched the TV to their impromptu lighting system channel.

"Anybody for a swim?" he asked.

Kowalski's voice was faint. "Not yet for you, sir."

"I'm okay with that."

IOIOIOIOIO

TBC


	41. Chapter 41

From the twilit beach, the water with the skim of mist on top looked so inviting that despite his words of two minutes ago, Skipper yearned to splash and swim and show what he could do as if he weren't still on the mend. He directed the yearning outwards to construct an exercise regimen with an innovative flair. "We lazed this morning and danced in the afternoon, so show me what you can do in the moat on short notice. Porpoising, cannonballing, and any old third thing highly encouraged and approved. I want to be able to tell you apart in these weather conditions and we have the time for Operation: Extreme Ultraviolet. Do me like I did you, Private."

Private stepped close and timidly oiled his beak. He reached up but stopped before actually touching his superior officer.

"I won't break, soldier."

Skipper closed his eyes as the young penguin sprinkled tiny pecks here and there. Before he could succumb to exasperation, the commander cupped the hesitant beak with both flippers to make sure, strong swipes that did the job the right way. As he was bracing Private's face, he discerned strength that only needed proper guidance and before long, he dropped his flippers to allow the penguin to complete the task. At a pause, he opened his eyes to see Private in adorable mode, looking proud of himself. Skipper pointed to his own eyes and Private carefully nudged a drop into each of them. Skipper blinked and cleared his throat. "Good job." He stepped back to take them all in.

Rico seemed to vibrate even though he was standing still. Kowalski looked bathed in a fountain of spray from Doris. Private's aura resembled the rainbow he was always gabbing about. "Operation is a success. Move out."

His troops dispersed at once as he knew they would. Kowalski remained on the surface as he swam backwards at great speed. He kept his flippers pointing upwards to display how he could control direction by using his feet only. As he angled into the turn at the far end of their island, he stayed in the middle of the moat. Skipper applauded the fine muscle attunement needed to gauge the speed of one leg against the other in unsynchronized paddling to make the controlled turn. He added a "Hooha!" on Kowalski's second orbit.

Rico and Private teamed up to do a Modified Corkscrew. From the planting strip's shore, Rico tossed Private fifteen feet straight up after Kowalski's third orbit before splashing in to play being the enemy. Private spiraled downwards beakfirst toward Rico's belly. The precision required to avoid injury at the splash made Skipper take a half step towards the water regardless of his condition, but he needn't have worried. The rainbow evaded the vibrator by a full inch as Private dove like a stuka under Rico's outstretched flipper. The two bobbed in the moat and when Kowalski joined them, three heads swiveled to the island shore for approval.

Skipper was feeling generous after the teamwork displayed by Sven and his group was echoed by this squad. "Snowcones all round! I'm buying!" Four little penguins shared a laugh before Skipper turned towards the isthmus to walk off some energy while his men returned to troop space that he did not want to intrude upon. He blanked his mind to speculation about the future and before he knew it, he had traversed the isthmus, waddled on the path next to the fence and strayed into the planting strip past the moat's drainage grate. He shook his head at himself as he nearly trod upon Kowalski stretched out between a Calluna vulgaris and Viscum album. He hadn't even heard the penguin singing softly. He blamed the noise scattering fog.

_"Way down, below the ocean, where I want to be, she may be ... "_

Oh. 'Awkward' covered this sitch perfectly. "Pardon me coming through don't bother stopping I'm moving along carry on ---"

"I'm singing about Doris."

"I'll leave you to it."

"Wait, Skipper. I want to talk about her."

Skipper sidled away. "You don't have to."

"But I want to and this is downtime."

By Jeremy Wade's blue shirt, _this_ was what he despised about delays. "Okay." He sat in the watermelon snow. "Shoot."

Kowalski still looked outlined with an irregular leak of droplets tinged with indigo. Skipper rubbed his eyes to shorten the effect.

It seemed rhetoric was the order of the day. "Who hasn't gone bonkers for love? You forgot that our bones and Kitka's are different. Hers are hollow for flight and ours are solid for ballast in the water." Kowalski karate chopped billions of air molecules to demonstrate. "That means we can martial artify like nobody's business."

This might not end too badly if he followed Routine Nine: Confess What Everyone Knows And Beat Feet In The Confusion. "Research about our skeletons is more your thing than mine, but I _was_ out of my mind with love, yeah, I admit it."

"I _know_ how to be out of my mind. I want to get back into it now." Kowalski turned to the specific. "Did you know Doris swam with me to Harry The Octopus to get inked? She couldn't get further than the dot on her face. It hurt too much and she cried so I stopped him."

"Ouch."

"Yes, I suggested she get one on her dorsal fin where her hide is less touchy, but you know Doris."

"Um."

"I can talk about it now. I know you won't mention details about you and her."

Skipper eased away from the subject. "But you didn't quit getting _your_ tat that day."

Kowalski rubbed his neck. "I thought about quitting, but I couldn't because she was there watching me commit before _she_ tried it. And now the ink is on me forever and she's gone forever."

"Don't be too sure of that, mi amigo. Life happens, things change and we change with it. Embrace the suck and go the braap forward." Skipper smacked his forehead. "And this is _why_ I don't like waiting around. Too much time to think."

Friends allowed differences between each other, according to Dr. Phil. "You _really_ don't like to think, do you?"

"Pshaw, I did enough thinking in the jungles of México. I reached conclusions about important stuff in the days or weeks or minutes of boredom in between bouts of action that turn guts to water and that's it --- no more thinking." It must have been the fog which blurred perceptions and outlines that made Skipper unbend. The next words merged into the forgiving mist. "I don't miss Kitka anymore. It happened just like that one day."

It was odd to have the leisure to speak of these things and they both thought so even more with Kowalski's next question. "What about Marlene?"

"She's my girl bestie just like you said. I think we realized that after a while. We'll have a gab fest when I get back."

Kowalski shivered when a drop of dew fell off a leafless twig from the Calluna vulgaris. The fluid dynamics of the drop's movement made the twig sway like a tentacle in the still night. "She performed like a penguin fighting off the space squid while I was sidelined in the wheelchair and you three were giddy gadabouts at Invexpo."

"Yeah, how did that get started, anyway? You and her, I mean."

It seemed there was no end to Skipper's imagination. Kowalski supposed the lingering effects of a near death experience might be responsible. He would need to devise a test for that when he returned to his lab. "There is no me and her."

"Be careful, compadre. Things start up with shared dangers. I speak from experience."

Kowalski shut down the soul baring because unlike Prince Sharesalot, he had a heart to protect. "Skipper, if that is your gut talking again, it's wrong." He had to know one last thing. "So where are you and I now?"

"Brothers, like always." Rico and Private approached on quiet feet, but Skipper heard them regardless and he saw that Kowalski did, too. Skipper knew the right way to end a one on one session as they both stood.

"You really can't catch a break with Doris, can you? Damn." Skipper dropped a fraternal hug around Kowalski and stepped back into officer space.

Kowalski kept his head up. "It's not her fault. It's not anyone's, I guess. We were not meant to be long-lasting. I touched her gentle flipper" --- he didn't notice Rico aiming a fulminating scowl at his back --- "and the soft pad on it sent me into bliss while we --- "

"Stop! K'walski, Tee Em Eye!"

Rico sighed with relief as he extinguished his mini-batch of dynamite. Kowalski turned at the hiss. "Apologies, Rico, my friend. I forgot you are sensitive to mushy love stuff." 

He became stern. "Private, you'll find you'll hear things that make you uncomfortable now and then. Grow up."

"Not like that! Never! Happy place, I'm goin' to my happy place --- "

Skipper chucked Private under the beak. "Someday your happy place will have someone other than lunacorns in it. I'll look forward to seeing what you do then."

"Y-You will? Well, in that case, Skippa, I won't disappoint you."

Skipper looked nonplused. "You _never_ have for long --- wait, what did you mean by that --- Sherman's _tank,_ I said it before and I'll say it again, _hate_ is not too strong a word for delays. Too much think melon time."

Rico rolled his eyes and pushed them all towards the moat. " _BeeBeeCee **kaboom** newztime! **Ven!"**_ Skipper balked at the water with a questioning look at Kowalski, who shook his head before following Rico's splashless dive. Private ignored Skipper's growl as he chivied his leader back along the way he had come until they sat once more in front of the TV.

"It can't be that some didn't make it. It can't." Private passed the remote to Rico as usual.

Rico looked mournful and surrendered the remote to Skipper. He slumped as he rubbed his scar, a habit that Skipper thought he had left behind after the first few painful months of the injury. The mournful look turned to hope as the regular BBC News showed a more cheerful Gavina than anyone would have thought. Someone had freshened her makeup and hair along with suggesting contact lenses.

An announcer with an aquiline nose shuffled his notes. "We present our Polite News newscaster Gavina Formes in a special report on a story that she has tracked since its beginning. Recent events transferred the ice worm nature oddity tale into grim realms. Gavina, if you please."

Gavina sat straighter as she spoke without notes. "On February 22nd of this year, Svalbard reported sighting enormous ice worms on a roaming iceberg and by March 6th, Iceland joined in and the Kraken Triangle got its name when Skorpa, Norway, contributed to the tales. Due to distance, weather, and the obligation of fisherfolk to continue their hazardous tasks, there were no captures or reliable visuals to substantiate the rumors. That has changed." She nodded.

The footage which followed still made the penguins lean forward. Skipper smacked one flipper into the other when Richard accosted the spotted monstrosity directly, Private made appropriate sounds of distress when the cameraman's hand floated into view, Kowalski hmmmm'd at the convenient ice shelf, and Rico ran his flipper back and forth over his topknot when Sven's blood spilled.

Gavina continued with a note of pride. "Fear not, dear viewers. Their fishing boat charter rescued the group immediately for transfer to nearby _Rainbow Warrior'_ s medical bay after administering vital first aid. Svalbard's premier science reporter and my colleague, Sven S.C. Formes, no relation, Jeremy Wade's apprentice, Richard Koenig, and their cameraman, Jan Mayen, are in serious but stable condition. The two sailors were treated and released." Her voice hitched. "Formes and Mayen are still in coma, but Koenig agreed to a brief interview. Richard, are you ready?"

The screen split seamlessly to show a young man holding a microphone as he reclined in a ship's bunk. There were tubes dangling from him but his smile eclipsed his eyes' white bandages that contrasted with coffee-colored skin. Kowalski placed his accent as Virginian. "Ms. Formes, I've read your abstract on vermiform extraction via electrolysis for practical piscatorial purposes. This is a real pleasure, ma'am."

"Thank you, Richard. How are you?"

"I've been better. The doc says my eyes need a rest before she fixes to subject them to bright lights in an examination. She hosed off the stinging slime which had me woozy as an upside down trevally, I can tell you. Those are strong toxins."

Gavina blinked rapidly and made a move to rub her eyes in sympathy. She stopped herself. "Venomous slime and a fierce stylet make a formidable large creature. Did you sense any intelligence?"

"Ma'am, it was full on mean and that's the truth. I think it reacts to stimuli without intelligence and with territoriality. We touched down on the glacier where it happened to be and it attacked. The boat arrived and it was a larger threat than our dory so it fled. Jeremy and I have scared off bears by standing close together and flapping our coats above our heads to look bigger."

"He's to get involved, do you think?"

Richard's smile faded. "I suppose, at some point after he's done more research. I failed."

"You saved Sven's life and tackled a giant worm head on. You have nothing to be ashamed of, young man."

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am."

Gavina blinked some more. "Ah, me. This world and the next then the fireworks, as dear departed Mr. Formes used to say. Rest well, Richard." There was an iris out effect as some scientist on _Rainbow Warrior_  got cutesy with the camera and then Gavina returned full screen. "That's all my time, viewers. Continue with regular BBC for your worm stories as I pass the torch to greater scientists than I. With accredited evidence and firsthand contact, who knows what will happen next? Gavina Formes from Polite News signing off."

"Yaaaayyy! They lived!"

Skipper clicked the remote to the frazzle light that Rico had nicknamed _Vasarely Vision._ "My brothers, humans have their moments. Rico, you can relax now."

Kowalski tugged Rico upright from his fetal position. "Rico. Sven will recover. Come along." Rico followed Kowalski to their bunk as tamely as if he were a Petting Zoo penguin. "I'll handle him, sir. Setting my internal alarm for the usual Blowhole-Sasquatch face time --- _now."_

"Private, we rest." Skipper yawned as he settled down. 

Private plumped his pillow before reclining. "Skippa, do you still watch wot we do on the security cameras?"

"Good Fourth of July glory! Now that you all found out, you'd ham it up for the camera and I couldn't trust anything I'd see, so no. What brought this up?"

"A reality TV star like Jeremy doesn't seem hammy to me. He's always respectful of the humans he meets and they live close to nature with the rivers givin' them all they need. They don't have anythin' else."

"I'm tired, Private. Your point?"

Private scooched down their bunk to get comfortable. "Jeremy makes his livin' doin' wot he loves and makes gobs of money, I suppose. Couldn't we get Mason and Phil to sell your old footage to some human reality TV fan on Ebay anonymous-like and use the money to help Sasquatch's plan for her kind? K'walski could doctor it to make us look cartoony."

"It's just like you to forgive her and think of that. I destroyed it, amigo."

"Wot, all of it? Even my mimin' you mimin' me?"

"Every last bit."

"Crabcakes. Bonas nochies, sir."

IOIOIOIOIO

TBC


	42. Chapter 42

Kowalski got right to business. "Set the beer we snagged and the fish oil in a safe place and look for a weed that resembles the dandelions of Central Park. Yes, it will be hard to tell it from other weeds but if I spotted it from the admin building, you can see it from up close. It's a good thing the snowfall isn't piled as heavy under the shelter of the tree. No, Rico, we don't want a flamethrower to melt the snow so put it away."

Within the ring of safety lighting by the main entrance flagpole, an observer would see four penguins scratching like chickens under a weeping willow. The tree's drooping branches etched designs on the pond nearby, which looked forlorn despite the pattering of its fountain's droplets that dimpled its surface. It took kiddies around a pond throwing in pennies on which to whisper kiddie wishes to make a pond come to life, thought Skipper. He started to picture the youngest member of his team who was scratching beside him tossing a penny into the Central Park Zoo's fountain. He caught himself in time. Private had not been a kiddie in ages.

"So is this hebenon?" Private stuck out his tongue to taste test the soggy shriveled leaf that looked like something a human would flick from his sole after a November stroll through Central Park. Skipper sprang sideways to knock it from the young penguin's flipper and Kowalski caught it before it dropped back to the patchy snow.

"Ow! Private! No tasting controlled substances! Never again for your delicate system." The commander winced as he rubbed the left side of his chest. "Dammit, will this _ever_ stop hurting?"

"Delicate? I am not!" Private sulled up and glared at his leader.

Skipper waved away the maundering and got straight to the point. "Once was plenty." He sat after mumbling an Angry Word from his extensive list. He wanted patience with this convalescing thing and he wanted it _right now._ "Don't be impulsive with sticking anything in your mouth. You are what you eat."

"Then why aren't the Inuit whale blubber?"

Rico offered a cheesy grin and shuttled Private away. He said something to him that made Private look sheepish.

As Skipper took a breather after his explosive exertion, Kowalski stuck his tongue into the moisture clinging to the leaf. _"I'll_ test it." The others watched as the scientist rolled the bead of moisture around his mouth and swallowed. "Nothing yet. There are other plants that look like it." He sighed gustily. "If you three paid attention to my briefings more you'd remember the lecture about global weed distribution from four and two sevenths months ago oh honestly why do I bother instructing you dunderheads --- "

"Zay _whut?"_

"K'walski, maybe we drift off because it's _borin' -_ \-- "

"Gentlemen, we've found our truth serum plant. Kowalski, get it together."

Science Guy must have been practicing his falsetto. _"I feel pretty oh so pretty I feel pretty and witty and --- "_

"Slap him, somebody."

Rico upended his bunkmate and shook the plant's effects right out of him. Kowalski retrieved the bottles and thanked Rico for the intervention as they waddled to the moose habitat.

IOIOIOIOIO

Sasquatch downed the fish oil without hesitation and chucked the empty out the south door. "Harreram, that's awful. You're sure it will work?"

"It works for us penguins. I woke up one time on a bed in Kyoto --- "

"Sir, you don't want to tell that story to her."

"Oh. Right. I'd have to clean it up."

"With Clorox, and we don't have any."

Hugo got them back on track. "So Blowhole needs prompting to drink with Sasquatch and we'll listen to figure out his reasons for making giant worms. That's ambitious." He got a gleam in his eye while his seamed simian lips puckered. "It's rather exciting, too, because maybe it will work and maybe not. It's more risk than I've been involved with in some time. I like it! Ayam, tune up your acting skills. I'll help you."

"I'm not much of an actor. I said that before." Sasquatch thrust out her chest and struck a dramatic akimbo pose as the penguins watched. Hugo shook his head and rearranged her left hand to cup her chin while he poked her right arm straight ahead at shoulder level with waggling fingers falling from a limp wrist.

"Let's improvise a scenario. If someone bends to kiss your hand, that's the proper position. Now look down and then up into his face with a half smile. Bat your eyelashes. I said _bat_ , not flutter. Quarter speed. No, third. Better. That's not half bad, ayam." Hugo turned to the penguins with an indulgent smile. "She can rehearse before the call."

Kowalski had adjusted his internal clock to synchronize with other nights' communications gauged from Arcturus' position since fog still covered the zoo and shuttered its canopy of stars. He had allowed a generous lead time to the communication. "Well. That's genteel and all, but we want the opposite of genteel. We want loopy and drunk, but not so drunk as to pass out or spew."

Hugo looked dubious. "I've seen drunks but never been drunk. The closest I can think of is a saying that my captors chanted while transporting me in a fanny pack to the seaport. They giggled a lot. Let me think, jungle time is so long ago ... oh yes. _Durian jatuh sarung naik,_ or 'the durian falls and the sarong comes up.' Naturally as a toddler I didn't understand it as I do now, but the sense of devil-may-care when smelling a delectable durian ought to be similar to alcohol's effects." He windmilled his arms and staggered as he sniffed hard enough to deviate a septum. "How's this?"

Rico sputtered as he shook his head. He lolled out his tongue and flung a flipper around Skipper's and Kowalski's shoulders as he sagged between them to mime needing support by designated drivers. Skipper and Kowalski eyed each other and dropped Rico to the ground. "Too overdone for the first and the other is too far comatose. Skipper, we need tipsy and happy here with a touch of hallucination. Join me in improv?"

 _"¡Bueno! ¡Viva Gammel Dansk!"_ The two bypassed dignity in the interest of putting away a menace to earth's environment. They croaked two verses of _Sweet Adeline_ while embracing and butting their heads together. They pointed to a spot behind Sasquatch and gargled a welcome to an unseen companion and when he or she joined them, they became overjoyed to the point of tears. At the last, they propped each other up with dippy smiles and googly eyes.

"Like that, Sasquatch," Skipper sniffled. He rubbed his eyes as he surveyed his troops. "Aw. You look like regular old penguins now. I could get used to your auras. Crud."

Kowalski thought of a strategy. "Sasquatch, what do you do when _you_ get drunk?"

"Hello? The whole point of tying one on is to forget troubles and _especially_ blank out what you did with Blowhole. I don't remember because I don't want to." She leaned over the manger with folded arms.

Skipper was the only one who could speak after full disclosure. "Tee Em Eye aside, act the way you've seen others act in bars, or, or, movies. Or TV."

"I stick to myself in bars, except for that one time. I don't like TV."

"Movies?"

"Never saw one."

"You're dropped from the plan. We have nothing in common."

"If that's your humor, color me unamused."

Kowalski waddled into the breach. "Moving beyond the beer effects, henbane ingestion results in sensations of flight and restlessness. Work it." He crossed his flippers and cocked his head at her.

"Here, ayam. Prop." Hugo placed the beer bottle in her grip. He closed both of his gnarled hands around her knuckles. "Try hard."

Sasquatch looked confused for a moment. After looking to where the moon last appeared, she took a deep breath and smiled widely. It seemed sincere enough as she ran her tongue around her lips and relaxed her shoulders.

Kowalski critiqued. "That's a start, but open up your face. You look like a deer in the headlights. Okay. Now slump." Sasquatch rolled her head on her shoulders and formed a serpentine slouch with her spine. She swayed and put out her free hand to Hugo, who got into the spirit and steadied her. She belched loudly and he wagged a bony forefinger at her as she waved the bottle under his nose.

"Laugh," ordered Kowalski.

She froze. "It's been a long time."

"Think of when you were happy," Hugo said soberly. He seemed to have lost his spike of enjoyment.

Sasquatch handed the bottle to him as she broke away to lean one hand against the jamb of the north door. She stared into the night as the pelt on her back quivered. The penguins looked at Hugo, who shrugged. "She'll get over it." He spoke as if he had weathered similar storms in his long life and seeing them in others provoked the old saying _and this too, shall pass_.

Skipper had not reached that stage of detachment from earnest troubles, although he knew it could afflict him at some point if he lived long enough. "Give it a moment," the commander said to Kowalski. He moved to stand shoulder-to-shin beside Sasquatch as they both took in the view to the north. The fog skirled between the ghostly back chainlink fencing and the invisible admin building and it seemed they were on the Endless Iceberg looking out at the Eternally Foggy Sea. It was enough to remind him where he'd nearly swum to and he backed away from the memory that he lived with because of this female. It was time to be a leader.

"Sasquatch."

"I said I'd cooperate, but I can't act happy when I'm not. This part of your mission needs scuttling." She swiped her forearm across her eyes.

"Fake it until you make it." Skipper loosened up. "Aw, I _know_ it sounds corny, but hey, it works for me when I need it to. " He looked back at the others who pretended not to gawk as they milled around. He lowered his voice as he leaned closer. "Try this on for size: _May it_ , uh that's your soul, _shed its bleak load of fears and regrets, may it stand undismayed in that glory of light, stripped and stark unafraid till the clear evening star marks the end of the road._ So go back onstage and sell this to that maniac mammal, er, not that you're not a mammal, too. You know what I mean."

Sasquatch crossed her arms and Skipper mirrored her pose. "Pblbpbpbpbpbl, like the words are magic or something."

"Words _can_ be. Come on, what's the worst that could happen?"

"Hmmph, you tell me. I'm in over my head with worms and plans and delays to plans. I just want to get to the action part and go home."

It was time to break out the big guns. "Manfredi and Johnson said that too and they never saw home afterwards. Our team used to be six until the tsunami swept us four apart from them. The last I saw was their pink pool noodles and I vowed to never be underprepared again. I'm preening you for a swim in dangerous waters, what do you say?"

"Hmmph."

"And don't let it slip that I quoted poetry. Is it a deal?"

Sasquatch turned to face him. She flapped her arms like Big Bird. "Yippee. I'm flying. The joy of flight. Amazing."

Kowalski approached. "That's the spirit, Sasquatch. Keep it up and now do this." He opened his eyes to their maximum aperture, crossed them and gurgled, "The colors sound loud hey Blowhole did you ever really look at a galosh what is the singular of galoshes never mind I could go for some pizza can you call it in for me --- " He ran out of breath. "And suchlike. Random comments ought to sell it. Oh yes, act restless, too."

"Like this?" She twitched her shoulders and zipped her gaze from one penguin to another before fixing upon the behavior of bouncing on the balls of her feet. She continued until Kowalski stopped her.

"That'll do. Save it for showtime after you sprinkle in the faux henbane. Let's set up the options by the TV."

Sasquatch lined up the bottle of Mariestads Påskbrygd atop the 52-inch screen TV along with the blob of henbane leaf to show Blowhole and its doppelganger to actually plop into her beer. She glanced by habit out the north door and then at Kowalski.

"Five minutes," he said. She puffed her cheek flanges out and paced, waving her arms and chanting a Nepali phrase.

Private pulled Skipper aside. "Wot does feelin' giggly have to do with a sarong goin' up? Wot's a sarong?"

"Private, I don't have the time for another 'special briefing.' Let it go." The young penguin looked wise, whispered 'oh,' and made room for Hugo.

It must have been wearyingly late for the aged orangutan, but Hugo showed concern for his friend in a low key fashion. "Penguin, reactive plants like the leaf she's to substitute can have alarming effects. You take prunes, for instance --- "

"No, _you_ take them. Kowalski's got this figured out." Skipper found himself counting seconds and when Kowalski met his gaze with a firm nod, he reached up to Sasquatch's hand. She looked calm enough as he tapped the crooked finger that a penguin had broken. Their eyes met and he acknowledged the role she was playing in this game of oneupmanship to a mad aquatic overlord's complex scheme. Everyone else hissed at him to join them behind the manger and he complied after a wink.

The game began.

"We-e-e-e-e-ell, Sasquatch, as I live and breathe." Blowhole bubbled the greeting to demonstrate. "Another night, another dollar. I hope your day was more eventful than mine."

Sasquatch swung the beer in front of the screen like a pendulum as Skipper pictured Blowhole's lone pupil blowing wide open. "It's about to get _lots_ better."

"Where did that come from?" The dolphin licked his lips loud enough so they all heard.

"I did some dumpster diving after His Royalness' visit and scored one or ten of thesh. Alllllllll for me." She managed a snicker if not a full throated laugh. It was progress.

"Good on you." His voice turned sly. _"I've_ got a full bar."

"Good on _you. I've_ got something to make thish even _better._ " She pirouetted before the screen and slapped her hand against the bottle.

"Don't tell me you've got the makings of a boilermaker. Your keeper will scrape you off the floor with a demitasse spoon."

She brayed a laugh like a donkey and Skipper chilled. Blowhole was no fool and did not take being played. She was close to overdoing her act. He stepped to the left of the manger. He caught her eye as she dropped out of her dramatic head toss that was violent enough to sprain a ligament. He flapped his flipper wildly up high and then lowered it to rest at chest level.

"Ahem. Yes. Boilermaker no, something more _natural_ is what I found, if you know what I mean."

"Nothing would surprise me in hippie Viking land. You can't possibly have scored --- "

"Henbane for the win!" She brandished the true leaf of the weed before the screen.

"Hold it closer and keep it still, for kelp's sake. I want to scan it." The laser eye beam emerged from the screen and changed color to ice blue as the penguins learned something new about their foe. A ray traced the leaf and when the scan completed, the familiar red returned and retreated into Blowhole's location. Beside Skipper, Kowalski gnashed his beak. Uh oh, his lieutenant was more jealous than ever of Blowhole's abilities. This would bear watching.

"Yeah, okay, I'm up for, well, partying. With you. By remote control, if you will. The crabs are teetotallers, something about their feeding filters getting clogged with booze, I dunno. And it's so _boring_ here it makes Hetauda look like Las Vegas."

She was in the proper groove. "Just lemme demonstrate and you'll be higher than K2 soonish, Bubba Ray."

Disaster. They had neglected an opener. Skipper took full responsibility for the gaffe. He elbowed Rico and mimed holding a bottle while deploying an opener, but the materiel would not be needed as Rico elbowed his leader back and pointed. Sasquatch opened the bottle with her teeth as she smoothly switched the henbane out for the other leaf atop the TV. Rico's jaw dropped and Skipper saw that Rico had added Sasquatch's name to Sven's as someone to hero worship.

"See, open the bottle and take a swig to make room." She gulped a fair portion. "Then sprinkle leafy poo on top and swish." She became garrulous. "You gotta let it steep I let it steep oh I dunno maybe a minute so yeah. That happens."

Skipper's eyes grew round as Sasquatch emptied the bottle in one swallow and tossed it aside. She melted into the ground.

"Sasquatch! Hey! Where'd you go?"

She levered herself up to sway before the screen. "Hi, dude."

"Good stuff, huh?"

"Mmmmhmmmm." She twirled her chest hair with both hands. "Soooooooo."

"There's nothing like it, huh?"

"Mmmmmhmmmm." She examined her nails. "Get some. It'll do ya good. Oh yeah, how's the plan pro-progr-coming along?"

"Fair to middling. Some doofuses discovered how dangerous they are and got photographic evidence so they're not as secret as before. Just as deadly, not as secret. The plan is still full steam ahead, not to worry."

"I couldn't worry about _anything_ at this moment in time. Shay, um, _time_ \--- when can you get shome of the good stuff, d'you think? Partying alone is, is sad. I've had enough of sad." The group behind the manger sensed the underlying truth in her last sentence. It made the act more convincing.

 _"If you don't get a better offer,_ you mean." Good grief, Blowhole playing hard to get was sickening to behold. Skipper's last mackerel threatened to make a return appearance.

Sasquatch only made her hands like binoculars as she played looking around her stable. "Woohoo, beautiful and _easy_ dolphin lady spotted off the port bow! All hands, I mean flippers, engage!"

"You're drunk and high and I wish I were. Eh, tomorrow Blue Six can scout around in the daylight for the weed. It'll be a good break in assignment for him."

She dropped out of character. "So tomorrow night is Operation Blow Me Away?"

Skipper held his breath as he heard caution in Blowhole's voice. "That sounds we-e-e-e-eird coming from you. Make it Operation Minion's Casual Sunday. Laters."

Sasquatch sashayed out the north door to get fresh air and, Skipper suspected, alone time. Living with a roomie was a large change from her norm.

"Sir, it's a delay within a delay. I expected as much."

"Skippa, the time will swoosh on by, you'll see."

"Penguin, you have an explodey look about you."

"'Kipppaaaah no **kaboom."**

"I'm _fine._ Sheesh." He turned his back on them all and sought out Sasquatch. He thought that she would head north as far as she could go because that was where the moon had last been at this hour of the night. He found her by the chain link fence. "You did well. Now we've confirmed he's at a disadvantage because he's eager for a diversion and that he has six helpers or whatever."

Sasquatch hooked her hands in the chain link fence to rattle it. "Prison. I need _out. When_ , bird?"

"ASAP. I get impatient, too."

IOIOIOIOIO

TBC


	43. Chapter 43

"Even better --- wait for it --- the movie is in black and white!" Private worked hard as unofficial morale officer and only Skipper noticed. The commander was relieved that someone provided lighter material for the team this afternoon. Skipper put on an interested face as he snagged a bit of popcorn from Rico's bag.

"So. And _we're_ black and white. I get it. What's its sitch?"

Private kept up his enthusiasm as the muted introduction to the film showed a beautiful young woman with black hair and ivory skin speaking animatedly. Freckles sprinkled the bridge of her pixyish nose. "Sunday Matinee Madness Maven Moira says it's a 'winnin' combination of romance in South America and the breakout dancin' of Fred and Ginger.'"

_"Fred?"_

"Not our Fred, Rico. It's the primo dancer of old movies, Fred Astaire. He's as graceful as a penguin." Kowalski showed knowledge of the genre if not gusto.

"South America," Skipper mused. "Would that be Chile?" Rico tugged back his own bag of popcorn from Skipper's reach and produced one for each of his team members at his leader's gesture.

"No, sorry, sir. It's Brazil. It's startin' in a moment." Private unmuted the TV and a lilting brogue reached their earholes.

"---ven Moira here on Polite BBC. Good afternoon, film fans. You're in for a treat as Fred and Ginger spice up a Tropic of Capricorn romance with a jalapeño hot carioca as Etta Moten provides sultry vocals. An integrated cast portrays Brazil's rich dynamic as well as any thirties musical can, and I'm not just saying that because I'm Black Irish. Come into my parlor and enjoy _Flying Down To Rio_ with me."

As spinning propellers swooped towards the audience in an exciting opening sequence, Private added a final fillip of diversion from serious Blowhole-related topics. "The Olympics are in Rio this year, too!"

Rico wolf whistled at a Miss Perky lookalike in a ballroom scene as Skipper offered commentary. "Too light topside, too bulgy in her ballast. We can do better." The two bided their time as plot points involving a plane crash into jungle and the main leads spending an unchaperoned night together played out. "Hooboy. Human morality," Skipper snorted.

The commander perked up as Fred and Ginger overclocked the digital screen while dancing an incandescent carioca. He glanced at Private's long face at the lack of overt gaiety over his choice of film to boost morale. He acted. "Men, we need exercise. Let's cut a rug." At the command, Rico grabbed his leader about the waist with a _yeahbaby_ and deep dip until Skipper forced him into the proper steps. Fred and Ginger were joined onscreen by the crowded dance routines with waves of performers that only thirties musicals could do memorably.

"Smashin'!" Private hauled Kowalski to his feet. Kowalski spied the troupe of dancers of color to mimic and bent his tall frame over Private while the younger penguin swayed backwards like a black and white lily bending on its stem. They shook their shoulders in tandem as if trembling with Antarctic cold and Kowalski cracked a grin hard enough to give him a scar matching Rico's. The four penguins rocked to the syncopated beat as they touched flippers and balanced on one leg as they kicked at the knee of the partner. At the same time, the partner kicked backwards to avoid a painful knock and they synchronized back and forth until the next and most famous part of the dance proceeded.

Forehead to forehead, Rico and Skipper along with Kowalski and Private placed their flippers atop their partner's shoulders and shuffled in time to the music. When both pairs attempted the 360 degree pivot while still touching heads, they stopped one quarter of the way around. "My spine!" came from Kowalski and "Ack!" from Rico simultaneously.

"Private, your height and mine do not compute."

"Righto, let's change partners and dance."

"Bye, 'Kippaaaah." Rico switched to Kowalski without a backward glance. The humans commenced snapping their hips and skimming their partner's forms without touching anything but the foreheads. The penguins did the same until Skipper looked uncomfortable.

"I think you and I should stop."

Private clung to the routine beyond reason as he turned his back while still strongly in his commander's personal space. "Why? This is the best part!"

Skipper stepped away. "Because I say so. Look, I want to sit down, that's all."

"All tuckered out, are we? Why didn't you speak up sooner? Here's a plump pillow for your sit-upon, Skippa." Private and Skipper settled to watch Rico and Kowalski still at it. By the time the music number subsided back into plot, the scientist and the Penguin From K.A.B.O.O.M. flopped beside them. For the finale, four little penguins watched girls draped in chiffon tear away a great deal of their costumes to perform synchronized arm movements as they stood on the wings of biplanes similar to the penguins' own radio controlled one. One girl seemed to fall from her stanchion's tether but was rescued quickly.

"Fake, fake, fake."

"I know, K'walski, but use your imagination." Private took another look. "Or girl watch, if you prefer."

"Psssht. _Human_ girls." Kowalski catalogued his scant collection of female acquaintances with the scientific method. He tested with one control and numerous experiments. First was Marlene, smart and friendly and full of possibilities for the right suitor; Rhonda, well nobody would touch her with a ten-foot flipper; Pinkie had a history that would shrink anyone's ego while there were far too many busybodies in her flock for her to pick apart any relationship with, and then there were those ungainly legs; Shelly had her macho plastic man to fixate upon now, good on her; there was the Blue Hen, ever virginal and ever mean; Kitka was too scary, he admitted to himself; and always and forever his control in l'amour, Doris of the iridescent hide and knowing looks.

Come to think of it, the lush curves of the lead dancer gave off the air of intriguing backstory and experience. He studied her as she braved the faux clouds on her faux flight. He made a wry face. Don't go there, Kowalski, he thought, because she could make your Doris look like an angel and not a fallen one. In universe in the film, she lived and breathed and displayed talent; in the real world, she was likely long dead. That was the trouble with movies this old. He was about to comment on the fact when Private completed his survey of the fulsome acres of pulchritude, too.

"These girls bein' human doesn't seem to bother Skippa and Rico." Private sniffed. " _None_ of them can hold a candle to Shawna."

Skipper sought to make a more solid contribution to the lighter mood. "Well, Private, you may be right about that. Take Frances Alberta, for instance. Evil zookeeper or not, she couldn't beat Shawna in a Miss Tri-Cities Beauty Contest, but she was quite a ... peach. Get it? Peach, elberta peaches, pretty girl is a peach. I thought it up myself just this minute."

"Skippa, stick to leadin', _please."_ As the film headed to its predestined happy ending, Private seized the fade-out moment to shout, "Jitterbug!"

"Aw, Private, I can't really do that one justice in my current shape and you know it. Not that I wouldn't want to with you."

"Don't worry, Skippa. No flippin' me over your head or slidin' me between your legs or vice versa. Just footwork, see?" He guided his commander into a Modified Stompin' At The Savoy. He gripped two willing flippers to pull them together belly to belly and then pushed them apart to shuffle into a cross step. "And now the sweetheart push. Again. One more time." Despite its tameness, the two accomplished a cooling down sort of activity from the energetic carioca and their cardio rates appreciated it.

Beside them, Kowalski whooped as Rico spun him like a top before tossing him within one quarter inch of the ceiling.

"Rico! No friendly fire casualties, soldier!"

"Otay." Kowalski dropped like a bride into Rico's grasp.

"Put me down this nanosecond!"

IOIOIOIOIO

IOIOIOIOIO

::I've _never_ used other than booze, Hugo. Do you think I was convincing?::

::I think so and they did, too.::

Sasquatch and Hugo grabbed bananas on the way out to their exercise area. The fog appeared lighter this afternoon, more of a sliding silver curtain than a blackout drapery. The two friends clambered onto the tire swing.

::What do they think of me, anyway? Weeds and trips and such. The most I've ever done is nibble licorice plant which is quite bracing.::

"Why are we using headtalk when we're alone?"

::I don't trust them not to surveille me no matter that we're um, working together. The lead bull would do anything to defeat Blowhole, I could see that.::

::All right. Headtalk it is. _Echo-o-o-o-o! Yodel-ay-eeee-hoooo!::_

::Stop that!::

::Come on, have a little fun. Life is not that bad. Trust me.::

Sasquatch squirmed in the hole of the tire and Hugo straddled the rope up top with his legs pointing in the opposite direction as hers. She gave an idle push to set the swing in motion. Hugo made a dismissive noise.

::Who _cares_ what penguins think as long as we get away from here? They seem competent.::

::My friend, I can see that you are not a herd animal.:: Sasquatch licked the smear of banana off her fingers. ::It matters because they are my temporary herd and I need to fit in.::

Hugo aimed his peel for the crotch of the tree branch and nearly made it. ::We orangutan males live alone mostly and contact with females is limited to when we both, um, are in the mood. Some males, like me, never get a date.:: He shrugged. ::I can live with that.::

::There you go. I am used to thirty or more in a structured group. I was one of five alphas in my herd.::

Hugo scratched his head. ::More than thirty Orang Pendek in a group? Your home must be remote indeed to avoid kidnapping humans.::  Sasquatch kicked them higher as she clenched the sides of the artic-sized tire. To Hugo, her face looked pinched with thought. She was a complex friend. He held on with both hands and both feet to the rope. ::Don't spin. I can handle anything but spinning in my golden years.::

::Hugo, I'm going to tell you a secret.::

::That's high enough, ayam. I don't want to lose my banana. Secret? Friends don't keep secrets from each other.::

::The good ones do.:: Sasquatch leveled them into a twenty degree arc as the two enjoyed the sway of gentle movement. She was reluctant to end the stasis.

Hugo broke the radio silence. ::Sasquatch, I realize that you are not like other great apes. What do you want to tell me?::

::I was not born an ape, a yeti, a sasquatch, a bigfoot _or_ Pendek Orang.::

::Of _course_ you weren't! We grow into ourselves and then comes the time when we are not blobs of baby but thinking, speaking animals --- ::

::Not that either.:: Sasquatch took a deep breath to force out the difficult mental words. ::I was born a wild yak in China.::

In no plane of existence could Hugo have thought of this. ::No.::

::Yes. I met Blowhole in a bar and he made me into his assassin because he knew his arch-enemy Skipper would want to meet a sasquatch. He hacked the bulls' zoo schedule to discover their location when my change would be complete. It helped that as either yak or yeti I am quiet-footed and withstand cold and heights although Blowhole could not have foretold Kastelholm. Do you hate me now?::

::It explains so much.::  There was a long silence as Sasquatch willed herself to calm.  ::I don't want to hug you for keeping this secret, but I don't hate you because I've lived long enough to have my own secrets. We move forward, ayam.::

Sasquatch halted their swing. ::If I don't make it through this and see home again, I wanted you to know the truth about me. My devotion last night said to come clean.::

"Piffle. Let's go brachiate on the scaffolding."

IOIOIOIOIO

Ice skirled in sparkling shaved swirls as the New York Rangers and Pittsburgh Penguins met in battle royal. Kowalski looked up from packing a bottle of beer along with an opener and henbane matched with a faux henbane. He entrusted everything including the fish oil to Rico with a pat on the back. "Pack your patience, sir."

"What the braap is Lundqvist doing! He let _two_ by Sheary get by in the second and now one by Crosby in the third! Five to three Penguins can't stand as the final!"

But it did. Skipper grumbled about it until switching to a delayed Channel One squib on the letters children wrote to Central Park Zoo.

"Just like missives to Santa, our zoo penguins receive dozens of letters each day. Let me read one that will touch your heart." Chuck Charles spread the letter to show to the camera. It was crayoned inside a black Sharpie outline of a penguin on lined school paper. "'Please come back soon because I miss you and I look forward to smiling and waving at you because that's all I can do from my wheelchair because I broke my leg on the halfpipe at my skate park because I am dumb like my mom says. The end. Signed, Fisher Mircowicz.'" Chuck folded the paper solemnly before his mood whiplashed into cheer. "Until tomorrow, Chuck Charles signing off and may your problems escape the nightly news." Skipper slashed savagely at the remote to access the frazzling lighting channel.

"He sounds dumb, yes he does."

"Skippa, he's a kid! Cut him a break!"

"He already got one, but we'll let that pass. Men, we march early. Form up so I can cuss out the Rangers on the way."

IOIOIOIOIO

Sasquatch appeared to be getting more into her acting. "I'll already have it opened so he sees me as further down the road to stupefaction. He'll want to catch up." She looked sly. "And that way, I can replace the beer with water and he'll never know it. The smell of beer makes me urpy and so does the fish oil."

Rico nodded as if the realm of addiction was not too far from his general mental state. He opened the bottle for her and dumped the beer before plunking the bottle under the pet waterer to refill it. He placed both sorts of leaves on top of the TV before looking to Skipper for approval.

"All right, amigo, I bow to your passion for misleading scenarios. I still remember the English bone china teacups that you filled with sticks of dynamite."

Hiding behind the manger was getting to be crowded with the addition of an elderly orangutan. Skipper asked for a boost to perch atop the manger's edge slat at Sasquatch's stage right or Blowhole's stage left or something, Kowalski wasn't sure. "Be careful, sir. Don't overdo."

"Of course, nurse. If I need to supply stage directions, she can see me better up here. I'll be fine."

Hugo took a closer look at the manger. "Bruce The Moose cribbed on the slats, see the bite marks? Moose are like horses and nibble on wood when they're bored. I can feel for him myself. Take care, penguin." Skipper looked down at his uncertain footing much as he had on Kastelholm's icy ridge.

"I've got it under control, but thanks, Hugo."

Right on time came the familiar _skeewoozzt_ of the carrier wave blooming into Blowhole's visage. "One two three nothing new to spew to you so let's par-tay, old lady. Blue Six is a keeper because he brought back _three_ mashy soggy leaves that ought to do the trick. See?"

Sasquatch waved her bottle as she squinted at what Skipper assumed were the leaves. "What'sh your drinkie?"

"It's a smo-o-o-o-th as silk single malt Scotch. Envious, much?"

She blew a raspberry in reply. "Here's a smooch fer ya!" She downed a swallow after swishing it over her gums. "Mmmmmmmmm, it'll kick in any second now."

"You're not getting ahead of me. Let's see, take a swig, mash the leaves on top and steep --- "

Sasquatch choked. When she could speak, she said, "You're _not_ putting all three in! Blowhole! Boss, _don't!"_

"Shut up! I'm counting seconds here, fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty, come to papa, baby!" The manger crew cringed at the loud clash of tonsils and waited for results. They didn't wait long.

"Ha. Ha. Hahahaha. Oooh yeah. Mmmm. That's --- uh ---uh --- uh --- did you feel like you're circling Akron in a zeppelin --- I got no words --- "

Sasquatch caught herself from displaying any more of the concern that she would give to any of her fellow creatures, even Blowhole. It seemed she was only deadly when she was on the job for money. It made Skipper applaud internally when she continued in her act and took another swig while clapping a companionable arm around the TV and leaning close.

"Hey, ol' buddy, ol' buddy, howzabout a song? I heard you in the shower that next morning, sounded like you gots a shurprishingly lovely shinging voice, lemme shtart --- " She tapped the beer bottle against the screen and Skipper could tell that Blowhole was amenable by the way that the crazoid cleared his throat and blowhole at the same time. He leaned forward to catch everything that issued from this unwise action of a demented dolphin and steadied himself on an abutting slat.

There was a _squeeechpop_ as the nail supporting the top of the slat worked loose around the splinters that Bruce had cribbed from the manger's top horizontal board. Skipper clung to the abutting slat for a moment and then let go as the slat slowly arced downward. He wavered on his own slat as his shifting weight loosened the nail in that one, too. From behind him he heard movement and pictured the scenario as he slid remorselessly downward as if on Kastelholm's drawbridge from the time when it had had a drawbridge. There would be his team forming a tower stack, Rico at bottom, Kowalski in the middle while supporting Private whose flippers even now swished fruitlessly behind his body. Hugo would climb to the manger's top to reach out for 'penguin' but his aged muscles would move too slowly to catch him. It was all so inevitable that he would face Blowhole in this way, out of tiptop shape and unprepared for a confrontation this soon. He couldn't jump, he couldn't without trashing his body even more to keep out of the action when his team needed him. He allowed the sitch to happen and steeled himself for whatever came next as events transpired in slow motion as they always did in such times.

Both slats came free at the top but stayed loosely fastened at the bottom. As the abutting slat hit the dirt floor of the stable, the slat with Skipper on it deposited him one second later as gently as if it were concerned about his compromised health. He landed fully within Blowhole's range of view.

"Skipper?"

IOIOIOIOIO

TBC

 


	44. Chapter 44

"He can't --- no --- no! Unbelievable!"

"Where'sh my shong?" Sasquatch danced on the balls of her feet while ignoring the lead bull penguin. Maybe if she distracted Blowhole with movement he would think the bird a hallucination of his wasted imagination and focus on her instead.

It was not to be.

"Skipper?" Blowhole repeated.

Sasquatch hugged the TV to blot out Blowhole's view while belting Rachel Stevens' rollicking international hit _I Said Never Again But Here We Are_ that she had overheard in the primate house.

"Shtand aside, Sasquatch. I can't be seeing what I'm sheeing."

Skipper and Blowhole stayed as still as if they were wax dummies in Madame Tussaud's. Sasquatch was spared deciding which way to go with this dilemma when Blowhole threw back his head and screamed, "It's not fair! I get rid of my greatest arch-enemy in this world and he _haunts_ me from the next! How long must this last? How long until he leaves my schemes _alone?"_

Ahah. Play act like none of this was happening. By the way that Blowhole's iris was a thin disk around his blown open pupil, he was far gone on the weed so this ought to be easy to pull off. "Boss, I don't --- _hic_ \--- see anything." She swayed her bottle back and forth like a metronome. " _You_ didn't see anything."

This was getting complicated. Blowhole continued staring at Skipper and the shock must have brought him a measure of sobriety because his speech improved. "I see him and you can't. I'm cursed. I'm haunted." Fear flashed over the dolphin's face as he hyperventilated. "My plans, my beautiful plans wai-i-i-i-i-i-t a minute. _I_ know what happened."

What next? When Skipper remained still, Sasquatch thought hard about how to smooth over the horrible night this was turning into, but she came up empty. She swayed as she schooled her face into a slack-jawed mess.

Blowhole now was ... _trembling?_    "H-He glided down like an angel he's in the _Good_ Place oh crabcakes I'm scared of good." He turned to Sasquatch. "You really don't see him?"

Sasquatch strained every acting muscle she owned as she looked through the immobile Skipper as if he weren't standing right beside her. She shook her head vigorously and put a hand to her temple like the experience of combining beer and henbane was overwhelming. In the back of her mind she was calculating how long she would have to play stupefied to stay realistic. She whimpered as Hugo nudged his way into her thoughts.

::Keep it up, ayam.::

::As if I have a choice!::

Skipper spoke at last. "I'm coming for you, Blowhole."

"Er, wh-what? Isn't that something an _evil_ spirit would say?"

"I'm not evil, I'm Justice. I know _everything."_

The scopolamine had reduced Blowhole to ditheriness. "Uh uh well yes you would coming from the Other Side and all say listen you're not going to haunt me _forever_ are you --- "

Skipper placed his flippers in familiar akimbo position. He'd never thought of Blowhole as _scared_ of good as he pushed for an advantage. "Do you _deserve_ my company forever? I don't think so."

Sasquatch made believe she was in a stupor and it was not far from the truth. She yearned to be in a peaceful mountain pasture with all her heart. There was simple structured life within her reach if she could just weather this night.

"Wh-what'll it take to get rid of you? I don't know any exorcists --- "

"Answer my questions and I _might_ let you live in peace." Skipper twitched a little as he realized his misstep and Sasquatch saw that Blowhole picked up on it despite his condition.

"Huh? B-But you know _everything_ \--- " The ring of iris grew larger as Blowhole's metabolism processed the substances swirling through his body and mind and his psyche skirted sanity once more. Sasquatch decided to throw caution to the winds as she introduced chaos.

It couldn't hurt.

"Boss! B-B-Boss! _Blowhole, stop! I c-can't stand it!_ You've got to stay sane to get me back home! _Don't_ go nuts on me!" She cried bitter tears and smacked the TV. The carrier dot returned and for a moment she thought she'd gone too far. She hit the 52-inch television screen again. Instead of the set flashing and shattering, the resulting flicker dimmed to a smaller dot and then expanded to display Blowhole's mechanical eye pulsing redly. His whole face rezzed after a heartstopping two seconds.

"Keep it together, woman! I'll deal with him!" The atmosphere of the stable passed the boiling point to approach thermodynamic.

Sasquatch upped the ante as much as she could to destabilize the dolphin. "Nobody but me is here, I say! _You_ keep it together!" She hurled the bottle of beer out the south door and jumped up and down in a hissy fit that she had witnessed her third calf throw when she had first attempted to wean him. If restlessness were one of henbane's effects, she'd give them restlessness.

At this point, Skipper had nothing to lose by asking questions. If he had to fail tonight, he'd fail _with intel._ He hammered hard while the truth serum still held sway. "How'd you get up to evil aquatic overlord again so fast? Is your real name Francis?" A third question, an off-the-wall one before he sneaked in the all-important query about the worms to underplay its magnitude. _"Where is Doris?"_

Sasquatch began to kick up the dirt in her stable and a rattled Blowhole glanced back and forth between the two animals as he answered the questions in reverse order. "Chill out, ghost. Sis Instagrammed from a meditation retreat in Atlantis. I think she's gone hippie. And yes, it's Francis. Blame my parents. I do."

Skipper was hard put to ignore Sasquatch's fit of temper as she threw a world class tantrum twenty-three inches away. She held her breath so that she'd pass out. He would muddy the waters with some misdirection of his own as he responded to Blowhole how he thought Kowalski would. "At least Doris is under a roof, oh what am I saying. She's all right. She's all right." He sucked in a breath large enough to inflate Faux Skipper in one go. "I'm all right, too." There was a muted whine from behind the manger and the commander didn't need to see him to know that it came from his lieutenant.

Blowhole's voice turned monotone as the truth serum squeezed the most personal data yet from him. "Ye gods and little fishes, I'm _never_ going to fall in love." His pupil remained the size of a Botts' dot so there was time left to play this sitch to a fruitful end. Skipper didn't dare glance at his team and continued to keep Blowhole in his laser-like sights.

Blowhole cocked his head and spilled his guts in a calm fashion. "How did I get overlord funding? Kickstarter. I sell a good product, thanks to Dave's genome sequencing genius. Ye-e-e-e-es, limited edition sea monkeys the size of a breakfast kipper fit right into a 55 gallon home aquarium, humans use 'em for pets or they use 'em for bait, I don't care and neither would Dave. I'd tell you how I do it, but then I'd have to kill you." The pupil flared and then returned to near its normal size so fast Skipper could almost hear it sizzle. "Oh wait."

Skipper had to ace his five on three power play like Lundqvist would while Blowhole was still dazed enough not to question his arch-enemy's lack of translucence. He didn't picture himself as the ethereal sort of spirit who tended only to vague statements and he didn't think that Blowhole would consider him becoming such after death, either, regardless of his current zoned out state. Even the mad dolphin's Flippy persona held _some_ savvy.

"Why make giant ice worms?" Skipper asked softly. The other questions didn't matter because this was the crux of the interrogation. What he assumed was Sasquatch's version of Routine Thirty-Two: Confuse And Distract concluded and she lay in the dirt out of Blowhole's range of view. She sprawled on her side with her eyes closed and he couldn't tell if she were really unconscious or faking.

Skipper hoped Blowhole would end this communication as oblivious to his arch-enemy's continued existence as before. It would stymie the whole physical confrontation plan six miles away if Sasquatch blew it or, he admitted, he himself blew it at this juncture. He was not immune to the histrionics displayed tonight. The old ulcer problem flared up. "Pin--- _burp_ \---federers," he muttered out the side of his beak.

Blowhole crept closer on the screen as he swayed on his segway. He must have linked his iPhone with a tabletop monitor for stability and by the way that no alarmed chatter played in the background, his six minions were absent. Well, that made sense because anything a boss did not wish was to appear weak to subordinates. A leader must always be physically superior to his team. "Who wants to know?"

Uh oh, belligerence was never far beneath the surface with Blowhole even as he was at the moment. "Your judge and jury and if you don't tell me right now, your _executioner,"_ Skipper said with a calm he did not feel. No harm, no foul if he threatened what he would never deliver even as a phantasm.

Skipper saw something give way inside Blowhole. "I want to swim through Iowa," he said.

He must have heard wrong. "Some static here on the Endless Iceberg, say again?"

Now there was no stopping him. "I made my worms from blending a few species that pool their qualities to melt icebergs and and glaciers and and the polar ice which will raise global water levels did you know oh of course you do that over the past one hundred years average Arctic temperatures have increased at almost twice the global average rate so I'm, um, helping Mother Nature along this time." He paused to gasp for breath fifteen seconds before continuing. "I've decided to go green with my schemes, you see. No more mecha Chrome Claws, no moving the moon, just thinking globally, acting locally, yessiree."

He became more animated and the commander feared that the triple dose of henbane might lose effectiveness. If the scopolamine's influence ended as he had observed in other sorry addicts during their interrogations, the dolphin would pass out after a burst of final truths. Blowhole was likely nearing the rush stage because of his talkativeness. He had to push now.

Skipper wanted to pull out all the stops to gather intel, but he could only manage one incredulous word. _"Iowa?"_

 _"Yes,_ and Kansas, too."

Inside, Skipper screamed, "Aaaaaaagh! Melting the polar caps for weirdo reasons every damn time? You're in a rut!" although he listened impassively on the outside. It was costing him and a gassy burn started in his esophagus but he tamped it down.

Oh yes, Blowhole was flying high now and headed for a crash and burn in a short time. "It's classic. The sooner I can swim like a _real_ dolphin over _my_ domain, the sooner I can tour Iowa without this ridiculous thing." He slapped the segway's console and a scary blob shaped like a giant cardinal emerged as would an airbag in a car.

"BASS FISHING TOURNAMENT!" the University of Iowa mascot bellowed.

Blowhole tamped it back into the control housing with an impatient hiss. "And Kansas!" he rhapsodized. "Kansas ought to be deep in the briny when I get through! It's already flat. I can't wait to swim over Kansas and Iowa. They must be the garden states of the Ewe Ess of Ay."

It had to be said. "We'll --- my team will stop you, Blowhole."

"Forgive me if I discount what you spout off, ghost." The pupil flared into a black hole as deep as the evil in the dolphin's soul. There was no more fear on Blowhole's face. "You've got as much agency as that pathetic _thing_ in the stable with you. I only need her to stay away from Copenhagen's Natural History Museum Centre for GeoGenetics. She'd never lie or go against me because she's afraid of me. It's entirely possible that she will meet with an accident on the way back to Nepal. I haven't really decided yet." His head nodded as he fought the zigzagging physical effects of the scopolamine slithering through his system. "W-wait you could help me all this means nothing to you isn't that so ghosty now that you're dead would you tell me when the artic will arrive just a lil hinty pleeeease --- "

"Why. This. Much. Trouble. To. Swim. Over. The. Midwest."

It was the beginning of the end for this session. "Because I wannnnt to and I caaaaaannnn. 'S reason enough. Hooo mama the rush the rush I can't take much more I'll never use againnnnn why dint she kill you for good --- "

Best keep up pretenses. "She did. It was what you paid her for or will pay her for."

Blowhole's pointy face drooped towards the screen until his nose tapped it. "Promished her double if she'd bring your carcase to me she failed oh I wonder whatever happened to Dave --- " He dropped out of sight as the segway lost its driver. There were sounds of flopping and one groan and then silence.

Skipper counted eight hundred heartbeats before moving. This delay proved most interesting. As the others gathered around him, he motioned to Kowalski who had for once not helicoptered around him to ask him if he got hurt in the fall from the manger. "Check her."

Kowalski bent over Sasquatch to take a pulse and peel back one eyelid while Hugo held her hand. "She's only fainted."

"Let's move out. Hugo, any thoughts before we go?"

"Boredom is sounding better all the time."

IOIOIOIOIO

TBC

 


	45. Chapter 45

Skipper didn't seem to care about covert conversation as they waddled along. His voice rang strong and clear under Arcturus. "Washington's welkin, it's a good thing the live screen had a sensor to click back to the white dot if nobody talked in ten minutes, but did you _hear_ that maniac, Kowalski? He's doing what he's doing because he wants to and no other reason besides his own will. I tell you I've thought him nutso before but this is the absolute end. So now we know why he made giant worms! We know, we have intel running out our earholes, we act, and that's that. Operation: Plug A Blowhole will be outstanding for the mission files. I never thought when we came here that relaxation could be so, so _relaxing._ " Skipper was on a natural high of intel-gathering victory, thought Kowalski, and the fact that they had yet to actually defeat Blowhole in the supple flesh was secondary.

Private soared into the stratosphere, too. "Wot I thought when I couldn't catch you in time, Skippa, was that we were done for. Right done for, or at least Operation: Plug A Blowhole would need a major revampin'. And now we can put him away like we'd planned in four hours! Piece of cake! Huzzah!"

Rico grunted, " _Chikns._ "

"Aw, soldier, I am not counting chickens. I've hardly ever felt like this! We've turned the delay into a relay of good solid intel thanks to Kowalski. We have the best possible sitrep going and your Gloomy Gus face will not turn me into a Negative Nellie. This must be what McDonagh felt like when he scored the game-winning goal against the Devils to clinch the 2011 final playoff spot in the Eastern Conference! Gold stars and Stanley Cups to _you,_ Kowalski! Up high!"

Kowalski coasted on this for some steps until he saw Imelda's habitat coming up. It was best not to have an audience for the subject he wanted to broach. "Skipper, a word alone, please."

"Uh, sure." Skipper made the signal for Routine Four: Scout Ahead I'll Catch Up Later. Rico and Private slid away like watermelon seeds squirted by sticky kiddies at the county fair. The leader watched them slide with what could not fail to be envy and then turned to his lieutenant with a smile. "What is it, m'main penguin?"

"I'll have more to say about Blowhole's cockamamie plan in the debriefing when the others are present but first, why did you ask about Doris?"

 _"That?_ It was for camouflage, _you_ know, befuddle and then stab with the real zinger, classic Routine Thirteen? We've got gold intel now, so what does it matter? I guess Doris told her brother about me and her hooking up so he assumed that I had feelings for her because even as a ghost I asked about her welfare --- oh shiitake mushrooms."

"You've noticed that she _didn't_ tell him about _me."_

Kowalski had always realized that Skipper was good at fishing for excuses. "You don't know that, compadre. Blowhole was responding directly to the question without expanding yes that was it he only said he himself was _never going to fall in love_ because to him it's awf--- "

"Skip it, Skipper." Kowalski folded his flippers over his chest and tried to spot Imelda. She and Marcus must have been asleep in their den.

"No no no. You're going to eighty-six the gloom and doom because you've got faulty intel. First rule of interrogating, and I quote, 'a neutral and nonpartisan source' --- that's Blowhole under truth serum, by the by --- is that the subject 'takes the position of answering questions directly but seldom volunteers information so that the interrogator may need to ask specific questions to obtain the information required.' Am I right or am I right that he answered simply but incompletely?"

Kowalski argued further as was his way. "Maybe. I'm wishing right now that I really had needed that new identity as Esmerelda Ramirez to live undercover in Puerto Vallarta. _She_ sounded an uncomplicated sort of penguin."

"You don't want to know the backstory that Rockgut concocted for her, but that's neither here nor there. What's crystal clear _tonight_ is that you need a 'special briefing.'"

"With _my_ history?"

"Not that kind of briefing! This is about chance being the fool's name for fate and how that works for our team. What if I had ordered you or Private or Rico to perch on the manger and the slat had worked loose? What if Blowhole had then gotten wind of you three hard on his trail? He'd move his lorry or skip town and then where would the mission be? It was fate that he saw me and not any of you and continues to think me dead, I say."

Kowalski countered as quick as a jackass penguin could gulp down an anchovy. "Fate and not scientific chance, really? He will still be taken by surprise at your not pushing up blåklocka when we catch up with him, so there's that. Also, Rico and Private and I are not compromised health-wise so we would have jumped off when the slat came free."

Skipper's good mood fled south like a migrating monarch butterfly deserting Manitoba for México when fall first chills the air. "All right, point taken. Let's move along to Doris and her brother. There are things that families do, even strange ones like theirs. They stick together and keep a united front against the world. For instance, I wouldn't tell Kitka some personal things that you know about me and you wouldn't tell Doris some details about you that we three know and keep to ourselves. Family is family. It's not chance but fate that you and I are in the same family."

"But --- "

"No buts! Orrrrrrr" --- Skipper got a burst of inspiration tailor made for the sitch --- "maybe she didn't tell him about you because you mattered to her and I didn't. She wanted to keep you to herself or think about you some more to know what to tell him, oh hell _I_ don't know."

"Doris _is_ capable of thought, that's true."

The ulcer threatened under the breastbone and Skipper had to wrap up this briefing swiftly after that slight concession from his lieutenant. "Chew on this awhile, smart guy. I got taken off guard and spouted a nonce question to shake up the bastard. I can become as rattled as the next penguin and answered like I thought you would. If he splashed down on a wrong conclusion about her and me, brother, I can't help it. Get your head in the game. You're smarter than he is, dammit. Fate made you my second."

The stubborn look returned as Kowalski twisted away. "He's smart, too, _brother_ , but he can't figure out his own sister --- "

"And you can? Or me? Drop it for another time, soldier!"

IOIOIOIOIO

Rico and Private could see their breath as they lolled inside the fence. "Skippa's flappin' his flippers and bouncin' on his toes. That's almost never a good sign. Crikey, here comes the wordless yell to the sky. Wot do you think it's all about, then?"

Rico got a sour look. "Doris."

"Wot about her?"

"'Kipppaaaah brotter up wif psycho."

"And K'walski is upset over that? Maybe. I don't think he ought to be, but maybe."

Rico's rumpled face tinged with sadness. "Luvzer." To Private's relief, the sorrow faded and was replaced by determination. "Kwoskkii _not_ tupid."

"I think love makes us all stupid, my friend. She's not been around for ever so long and K'walski is still hung up. He needs a distraction."

Determination gave way to something Private couldn't decipher. He was about to ask Rico about it when Skipper and Kowalski approached. He and Rico caught just the edges of their conversation.

"You'll see her again. I feel it in my gut."

"I don't want to." Skipper waited for his boost over the fence but Kowalski cleared the toprail by two feet without a glance backwards.

"Rico and Private, do the honors. Kowalski has a heart, I mean headache." Kowalski aced a dive into the moat after brushing off Rico's comforting pat. He disappeared into the habitat interior.

After he skimmed the top of the fence to land beside Skipper, Private knew moody when he saw it and kept his beak zipped. He slid both flippers under the recovering right foot and heaved.

Rico caught his uncommunicative commander on the other side and ushered him along the narrow path to the isthmus. Private saw Rico jar some reply out of Skipper and then spied their beaks moving but couldn't make out words. He shrugged as he leaped back over and accepted the cold comfort of near freezing running water in their moat for a personal best time once around the habitat before sliding headfirst down the ramp inside it.

Except for a tightness around the eyes, Kowalski looked the same as ever at the debriefing. "There's something bothering me about Dave and Blowhole's species blending, but for now this is what I've got." A sneer distorted his features as he declaimed, "Blowhole is flat out stupider than a Gentoo. Studies have shown that ice melt would drown Florida and the eastern seaboard and Gulf Coast. While the Mississippi would surge far up its course and affect Iowa _slightly_ , Kansas would be the _same_ as now. His schemes are not the hundred per cent villainy he thought." The sneer vanished as Skipper voiced a question.

"What about Denmark?"

"All of Denmark would disappear as would our homes in Central Park Zoo and Antarctica --- um, well, no, but Antarctica would be lots smaller."

Skipper had never looked more leaderly as he sat at the head of the class. "Doesn't matter. We take our heritage with us. Cheer up, boys, we defeated Dave and he was a bigger menace than Blowhole."

Excuse me, he wasn't, in the global scientific sense, Skipper, Kowalski wanted to say, but Skipper was on a roll. "Let me think. Denmark would be totally wiped from the face of the earth if his plan succeeds" -- the others could not believe their earholes --- "and I have personal reasons for wanting that to happen" --- Rico and Private rose as one to deliver a tempered smack down in rampant insubordination --- "but in the end, he must be stopped. Even Danes don't deserve total annihilation. Where would we be without lingonberry jam and open-faced sandwiches? Am I right, men?" Skipper turned behind him for moral support.

Rico ceased swinging his blackjack and nodded enthusiastically. "Hea _yeahhhh!"_

Private came down from combat stance with a beguiling disguise into a leisurely stretch and yawn as his posture gave way and he stretched flat on the floor. "So we're off to battle tomorrow, gents." His eyes were half-lidded with fatigue.

"Delay is done, young Private. It turned out better than anyone could have expected. Hit the sack with me for a few hours until we need to catch the Monday milk truck." Skipper appraised Kowalski as Private rolled into the deeper access of the bunk he shared with his commander. Little _hbbbhbbbb_ s issued from it after less than one minute so Skipper kept his voice down as Rico also retired.

"What do you think is wrong with Blowhole's plan?"

"I'll sleep on it and maybe it'll happen in a dream that I'm back in New York City where I have my lab with its calculator and other machines like the DNA analyzer to work with. I'll dream I have some backup, too."

"Other than penguins?"

Kowalski snorted after crossing his flippers and evading Skipper's gaze. "I'd even take Joey at this point."

"You want somebody to fight with?"

"I feel like punching something, yeah. It would help if --- "

"--- you could dot her eyes. I know the feeling, amigo. I got unhappy with Kitka once or thrice." Skipper poked Kowalski in the chest. "But we don't do that, now do we." He noted how Kowalski's flippers balled with tension. He poked him again. At the simmering look, he said, "Take a swing at me, boyo."

It was a measure of Kowalski's frustration that he made no reply but launched a Marquess of Queensberry textbook punch, left up to guard, right in a straight jab.

Skipper bobbed out of reach and got on his bicycle around the imaginary ring, weaving around his lieutenant's attack that lacked its usual thoughtful strategy. By the time Kowalski paused to wheeze his way back into normal breathing, Skipper discovered with pleasure that he himself was lightly winded. Finally, he thought, some endurance. "Feel better?"

"Some. Thanks, sir."

"No problemo."

The four little penguins dutifully rolled out at the time of night when dawn was a mere expectation for the eternally hopeful. After gobbling the few smelts that they had saved for use as energy bars, they matched Skipper cup for cup of coffee. "Good thinking, team. Light meal before action, caffeine to stimulate the think melon, and hey we're off."

The zoo was as quiet as it ever got. There were only columns of fog now that appeared ghostlike in the dark. The four welcomed back the stars as they waddled past the polar bear habitat. "Should we see if Imelda can be muscle or lookout for this mission?" Kowalski felt it his obligation to point out even unlikely scenarios.

"She'd be bodacious in a fight and maybe we could jam her aboard the milk truck. Any ideas how?"

"Um. Let me think. No."

"So we think alike. She'll be our undercover resource here at the zoo." They trod single file to the moose habitat. Sasquatch was awake.

"That was a trip and a half, as the expression goes," she greeted them without preamble. "So you're on the way to him?"

"We are," Skipper said. "You stay here by the TV in case he comes to and gets confused and/or wants to start up partying again."

"I shall do my best." Sasquatch retrieved her dead soldier from the exercise yard and refilled it with water as they watched. "He's probably not going to be conscious any time soon, though I'm unsure since I've _never_ used stuff like he has. Booze fills my needs nicely and it's not criminal to enjoy it."

Skipper waved her irrelevant comments off and got straight to business. "There's another reason not to deploy you. If we fail today despite all our plans, you'll have a chance with him to get away from the zoo. Be warned, Sasquatch, that he said you might meet with" --- he sketched air quotes --- _"an accident on the way to Nepal."_

"Hugo told me. That bandar ko chaak."

"I don't know what that means, but yeah, don't trust him any farther than you can throw him. If he's still under the influence when we arrive, all to the good. We'll disable the lorry after we ensure he doesn't escape and then notify Ålanders somehow. I'm thinking Rico's riveting the doors shut as a tactic at the moment."

Rico grinned with all his beak before making appropriate sounds. "Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah!"

Hugo was practically sitting on the space heater. "What about his helpers?"

"Minions have limited loyalty and once they see he's outgunned, they'll be scuttlin' away like the lackeys they are even before the authorities arrive. Spineless weak things." Private looked fierce and belittling at the same time.

"Technically, Private, crab exoskeletons take the place of spines --- "

"Enough, Kowalski. We march. Sasquatch, Hugo, keep the home fires burning."

Sasquatch joined Hugo by the soothing warmth as they chorused well wishes. "Subhakamana." "Semoga Beruntung."

"The same back at you."

As they trooped past the primate house and reptile building to the café beyond it and the service entrance beyond that, there came a rustle of human voices in the zoo that generally occurred an hour before opening. A lone woman was too preoccupied in predawn somnolence to notice them hustle under a bench. She was joined after a moment by a co-worker and the two commenced dragging ladders to set against tree trunks in the café's outdoor seating area. They each took an end of a banner and secured it to an upper branch. After they departed for unknown errands, the penguins studied the banner.

"Kowalski, analysis."

"Judging by the banner's cheerful cherry color and lack of nationalistic or religious emblems, I gauge that this signifies a secular celebration. The large numerals in the center give a --- a ---scientific --- "

"What?"

"The numerals are 3.14. Today is Pi Day. It's an international holiday, Skipper." Kowalski stroked his beak. "But why are penguins depicted on the banner? And why is Åland's celebration today when both Sweden and Finland use the day-month configuration for dates and not our month-day one? I'm puzzled."

"Be puzzled as we wait by the service entrance. Step lively, men."

On the sidewalk outside the service entrance was a billboard to seclude themselves under after Rico held aside a large enough corner of chain link fence for Skipper to slip through. They chose a shadowed spot behind one of the billboard's posts and in front of the zoo gate. Time glided to a stop as they prepared for combat in various fashions, nearly all of them related to limbering up. Muscles were gently stretched, martial arts moves rehearsed and when a reasonable amount of time had passed with no truck, Kowalski became concerned. "Skipper, I'll recon from across the street. When I spot it coming, I'll give the signal and slide back pronto."

"Lock and load, soldier." Skipper pointed to the parking lot, where an unusual amount of cars entered for this dark and early hour. "Stay sharp and watch out for humans."

"Aye, sir." Kowalski sped off.

"Skippa, wot's the plan for bringin' you with us when you can't, you know?"

"We cling to the top to avoid exposure while Kowalski calculates mileage and yes, I'll need an extra boost to get topside and help to stay put. I'm sure you all can manage that."

A smidgen of sun peeked over the horizon when Kowalski zinged back. His face took them all aback and Skipper rubbed his belly while looking dyspeptic. "Urk, the smelts want to swim upstream. Out with it, Kowalski."

"Skipper, the celebration is for us. The billboard shows an American flag crisscrossed with a Finnish flag and penguins eating pie with guests while sitting on a large Greek letter pi. The zoo is honoring our stay here by changing their regular Pi Approximation Day of July 22nd to our American Pi Day of March 14th. It's touching, really."

"Cripes with a clutch purse! _Pi Day?_ What sort of mad socialistic holiday is that? I suppose the unions give milk delivery drivers for small zoos the day off, too?"

"Pie! Yum!"

"It looks that way, sir. It's pushing the envelope of lactose refrigeration to intolerant levels and I calculate that the café's organic milk will go off, so to speak, at 1900 hours tonight--- "

"--- which is after closing, and then the hippie solstice worshipping delivery drivers will restock tomorrow morning before guests arrive. Outstanding. I'm happy for whoever celebrates this geekfu. Now let's vamoose to our habitat. Another delay. I _knew_ it."

"Pie! Yum!"

"Not pie to eat, Rico, pi the mathematical formula demonstrating the timeless principle --- oh forget it. It's nothing to do with food. This does delay our takedown of Blowhole unless Skipper is feeling up to a six-mile waddle with _no sliding or rolling._ " Another option occurred. "We could take you piggyback by turns when you got weary, but we'd arrive exhausted and not much use to the mission. And our four-hour window would need adjusting and then there's the unusual amount of early guests and zoo employees to spot our absence --- "

Skipper's face fell. "I'm dunsel as much as ever. Damn Sasquatch did a number on me. She's just lucky I'm the forgiving type. Let's skedaddle to our habitat to wait again." The colorful watermelon snow did nothing to brighten their mood as they trooped back to the habitat while evading human observation. Imelda and Marcus had awakened and waved from their den but Kowalski was the only one returning it.

They released some pent up energy by blasting the guests with every routine they had performed in the zoo. Later in the afternoon when squealing kiddies tossed the penguins traditional Finnish tartlets stuffed with delicious blueberries that blended American with Finnish ways, they enjoyed the day more. After all, upside was that Blowhole thought his arch-enemy dead and Sasquatch still on his side. As he delicately nibbled on his tartlet, Private put it best.

"This is _so_ much better than lutfisk, Skippa."

"It _is_ worth the blue tongue, at that."

"I take it back! Pi Day is everything to do with food!"

"Boobries yum!"

IOIOIOIOIO

TBC


	46. Chapter 46

Sasquatch and Hugo slept in until the zoo's opening time. As Sasquatch tied into her morning monkey chow with a grimace and Hugo tied in with gusto, he reflected, "You'd think I'd be used to waiting at my age, but I actually am impatient to hear how the battle went when the penguins return." He popped a chunk of chow into the air before gobbling it like a salted peanut. "I have you to thank for my unsettled state."

"Is that sarcasm?"

"Indeed not. I feel alive inside, even if my energy level on the outside doesn't show it." He led the way to the scaffold where Sasquatch noted the crowd waiting for her to do something, so she did.

 _"Tell_ a fellow when you're going to grab him like that!" Hugo adjusted his fur.

Sasquatch swung herself up to sit beside where she had tossed him up on the scaffold. "It's the unexpected things in life that spice it up." She waved back at a little boy and his mother who had been waving since the two left the stable. The two humans were the last to leave the moose habitat vicinity in the clumping pattern that most visitors adhered to. Sasquatch saw the boy and his parent disappear into the primate house as they followed their group along. "So we wait until the penguins accomplish their mission, or don't. I'm sure they'll wrap everything up with a pretty bow and come over to brief us tonight at some point."

 _"Brief_ us? Now you're talking like them."

She shrugged. "I waddle the waddle, so I talk the talk. They're my temporary allies and herd and that makes them yours, too. Change is in the air."

"If you say so."

The wintry late morning sun warmed their backs and they could tell that spring was approaching. Sasquatch pursued her theme of change. "I've done all I could to fit into a regular life being a daughter, a mate, a mother, a grandmother, and now --- "

"And now _what_ , ayam?"

She swung her feet. "It's hard to explain to one who has always led a solitary life, but I want to lead a life alone like you now with no more personal nurturing. I want to ensure that my kind survives to the next generation but I never want to get personal with anyone _ever again._ " Sasquatch pulled her broken finger absentmindedly and then flinched when it twinged. "I don't expect full understanding from you. Your friendship is enough, Hugo. It's all that I want or need at this stage."

Hugo patted her undamaged hand. "I have not weathered your life, but my own has not been without challenges. When I met you, I wanted to end boredom _somehow_ and you've done that for me. Let's move forward no matter the outcome of the penguins' mission. I want freedom and you want freedom. That's not too bad a goal for over the hill animals like us. Somehow we'll get it."

Sasquatch raised an imaginary Oktoberfestkindgestalt Bavarian beer stein. "To peace on a mountain."

Hugo fist bumped in return. "To peace in the jungle." His gaze hardened. "Let's go for it."

IOIOIOIOIO

"Skipper's Log: Hiatus Version 3.2. I'm committing this entry to memory and not ordering Private to memorize it because it is a not so pretty kettle of fish with personal attachments. On the plus side, I can preen myself again. There is only one nude spot left on my front and it's getting smaller each day. By folding my flippers across my chest just right, nobody can see it. Bending is easier and I feel stronger but I'm not up to par yet, so no swimming, rolling or sliding. Kowalski says I'm fifty per cent of general pre-Sasquatch condition including needing to rebuild more blood volume. Meh. Onward to the negative, Blowhole's takedown suffers delay after delay and by Jackson's muzzle loader, I dread telling my men the latest decision."

It proved just as difficult as the commander had surmised even though he waited until after lunch and that ought to have mellowed them.

"Team, you're going to hate me for this, but I'm not here to be liked. We're delaying Operation: Plug A Blowhole until Wednesday morning."

"Sir?"

"Ya _gotta_ bekidnme!"

"Skippa?"

This was too important for the usual meeting format. "Walk with me." Skipper led his troops across the isthmus but instead of turning left towards the front fencing, he turned right to thread through the small patch of trees at the back of the habitat. Calluna vulgaris clustered at the feet of several picea abies who must have been one third the age of Private. The calluna vulgaris may have been a month shy of budding its spring greenery, but last year's flowers remained on the plant in a dignified show of brownish glory. Contrasted with the evergreen needles of the six feet tall picea abies, it made food for thought regarding age and the passing of seasons. Skipper didn't much like the food and he was certain he didn't like needles, so he got to the point after twelve steps.

"The Ides of March are tomorrow and Kowalski rightly divulged that they can be considered unlucky. Now before you all say luck is what you make it and remind me that I said it first, I want to tell you that Wednesday is St. Urho's Day. It's a particularly Finnish day and I want to ride that wave all the way to the beach."

Under the tallest picea albies, he turned to gather his crew in a circle. The afternoon's weather was clear and crisp. The watermelon snow from days ago had piled a soft pinkish blanket that pooled about the hips of the tree. Skipper's eyes reminded Private of the sapphires in the cabochon necklace that he had admired in the jewelry store when they had nixed the thievery shenanigans of Brick and Cecil. He knew that something momentous was about to take place.

"Men, _I'm_ determining the attack day because _I've had enough with letting socialistic rules or my convalescing body set the timing of all this_. I've not had a perfect day in years, but my gut says that Wednesday will come close."

There was silence for one full minute before Kowalski broke it. "Skipper, I don't believe that St. Urho is venerable or blessed, much less canonized --- "

"That's the trouble with you, Kowalski, you don't believe. Well, I do. If he's a saint, he's got mojo and we need it."

"Are you sure it's your gut and not your ulcers acting up again? We've all noticed that you've not been digesting your food well lately --- "

Skipper closed his eyes and looked inward for ten seconds. "Nope, it's the gut part of my gut and not the ulcers."

Kowalski had to concede. "Guts _are_ hard to fool."

Private was surprised that Rico proved the last to convince. "'Kippaaah, mebbe Kwoskii testyu?"

"Rico has a point, sir --- "

Skipper stood firm. "Not more tests like you did after the mindjacking. They hurt me."

"But I specifically did _not_ use needles!" Kowalski's voice rose to his upset-there's-no-more-salmon level but not to his we-are-going-to-die-horribly-in-six-point-seven-seconds level.

"I didn't say _physically._ "

"You didn't say anything at the time."

"Never mind. I don't want any tests. My gut wouldn't lie."

Kowalski steepled his flippers. "Sometimes we need to be cruel with needles to be kind. I never _did_ discover what disease that Doc's injections saved us from. It could have been fatal."

 _"This_ has nothing to do with _that."_ Skipper fixed Rico with his commanderiest gaze. "Rico, I'm not undergoing anything that Kowalski can come up with away from his lab or even in it. I believe this change in schedule to be best to take down Blowhole. Now do you want to even the score for Sven's injuries or not?"

Rico up-highed after a moment's thought. " **Kaboom!"**

"I couldn't have put it better myself." Skipper looked to the sky. "Ole, you sit this one out."

The team saluted as one.

IOIOIOIOIO

"Sasquatch. Hugo. Rise and shine, you two."

Hugo stirred. "Zzzzz---what? Why are you here at this hour, penguin?" Skipper saw that they had placed their space heaters closer together so they rested nearer each other but made no comment.

Sasquatch yawned and stretched. "A snafu in the mission? Did Blowhole move his lorry? Is he gone? What happened? Are any of you hurt?"

"Everything is copacetic, but there's been a change of plan. We're on for day after tomorrow because he's still near the airport as far as intel shows," continued Skipper. Kowalski clicked the 'change' button on the remote and the Vasarely Vision frazzle showed Hugo and Sasquatch sitting up with Hugo's pelt matching Sasquatch's for deshabille.

Sasquatch had not yet gotten it together. "What time _is_ it? Where is Arcturus?" She scrambled out of bed to peer out the north window. "Harreram, I nearly overslept if he's contacting at the usual hour." She slumped in relief. "There's time to wash and not much more. Hugo, I'm not up to playing your late night games any longer."

"It was your first time, ayam. You did all right."

Skipper smacked his forehead and then directed his team to study the manger for weak points. "Tra la la, I'm not listening. We don't need to hear about their late night _games_." He looked thoughtful after Kowalski, Rico, and Private each pointed three compromised slats due to Bruce The Moose's refuge from boredom by cribbing on good Finnish spruce. "This is a no go for a hide up top although it's secure enough to hide _behind_. I need a better observation post. Kowalski, options?"

Hugo was already at the waterer. "Playing Botticelli _is_ my forté to stave off boredom, that's true. Wait a moment for the water, I'm dry as a desert angin from asking the game's questions." He sucked on the waterer and afterwards dashed a gnarled hand under it before smoothing down his thinning sagittal crest fur. "Your turn, ayam."

The penguins waited until the middle of the night latrine calls of age had been tended to and the atmosphere in the stable approached calm. Skipper briefed his team and allies after studying Kowalski's drawing in the dirt of the floor. "Kowalski agrees with me that we ought to practice getting this dunsel body of mine to the topside of the milk truck for five in the a.m. Wednesday morning." He pointed upwards to the open beam ceiling. "Private, gain the high ground on that rafter and be my stabilizer. It's a round cedar log so it's a greater challenge than the flat top of the truck will be. You can ace this."

Private attacked the log as if it were a giant ice worm. He crowed, "Launch him!" as he planted both feet and dug his claws into the unpeeled bark. He watched as Skipper stuck both flippers out to allow Kowalski and Rico to each grasp a pit before they curled a flipper around a thigh and thrust upwards. With perfect faith in the aim of his team, Skipper ascended to the rafter where Private steadied his landing with something resembling a hug. The two sat on the log and not a moment too soon as the Vasarely Vision disappeared to be replaced by the carrier dot and then the flare of Blowhole's laser eye. He must have turned the brightness down quickly because the light in the stable reverted to its usual level. From their perch at an acute angle to the television screen, Private and Skipper heard Blowhole's exhalation but no words.

Sasquatch picked up the ball and tiptoed with it. "So."

Skipper looked backwards and down to see Hugo wave his hand over his brow. Sasquatch appeared to take the hint to run downfield. "So, um, Boss, that was some toot, huh?"

"I'm kind of slippy tonight, Sasquatch. Are you?"

Skipper saw Sasquatch make her eyes look droopy and almost wished he were a real ghost so he could whisper dialogue into her ear and remain unseen by Blowhole. He could appreciate that her acting skills had grown in the short time she had been performing and hoped that she could step up her game in these critical last communications. He trusted that Blowhole was not thrown off by the tone of concern in her next words. He supposed that with anyone as selfish as Blowhole, caring left over after a single drunken rendezvous was taken for granted. "A little. But you overdosed, boss. You're lucky not to be catatonic. Watch out next time."

Blowhole looked uncommonly sober to Sasquatch and not just in a hung over way. "I can't get Skipper out of my mind. He's in the _Good_ Place. He looked wavery around the edges or was that just me?"

Uh oh. Blowhole was testing her and maybe doubting that he saw a ghost after all. Sasquatch puffed out her cheeks and rolled her eyes as if to say _here we go again._ "I did _not_ have otherworldly contact with the penguin that I offed. You alone saw a ghost. He's in the Pure Land? Well, yes. Obviously."

"Why do _you_ suppose that? You didn't know him."

Sasquatch felt everyone's eyes on her. "I'm saying that because I'm a good minion and agreeing with you. As you said, I didn't know him and you knew him better." She threw in an honest appraisal. "He was a good fighter so maybe that was enough to get him in."

Blowhole must have been pacing on his segway by the way that Sasquatch's head zipped back and forth to follow. A rare solemnity colored Blowhole's voice, a new tone that was not Flippy's empty cheer or Blowhole's villainous glee. Skipper wondered if this was what Doris would call his Francis persona. "I don't understand why he should be there. This means more thought. I am swearing off _everything_ until I figure it out --- "

"You mean you're _reforming?"_ For the sake of everyone's goals, it was better that he continue using mind altering substances until he was taken care of. Sasquatch cudgeled her brain to come up with reasons for him to get blotto sans henbane without seeming obvious.

"It's too late for that. And besides" --- he cracked his jaw in a yawn --- "I wouldn't do justice to my plan if I quit on what took me all the way across two oceans and up the Ganges to the Gandak River to think of. When I reached my stash of segways upstream and trundled to Dave's lab inside the mountain, my minions waiting for me there thought it was good, too." He paused. "Unless they were just shining me on. Chipmunks can do that."

By the Great Horn Spoon, Blowhole's weeks long delay in purloining his enhanced assassin away from DNA discovery had made him extra thoughtful, too. It did not bode well for his takedown. Skipper never thought he'd want to hear the dolphin's mad cackling glee again, but he was wrong. Outward glee depicted an inner hysteria that sometimes glossed over details that might lead to accurate conclusions and nobody in the stable wanted that. For example, what if Blowhole's seemingly shaken confidence inspired him to call in the mysterious Agent Twelve for backup? Agent Twelve was a complete unknown.

Hugo was frantically stroking his brow and waving his hands. Sasquatch put on a joking air. "Come on, you're giving up _everything?_ Not even a lil drinkie with a pal?"

"Last night was a warning from Beyond not to use again. I'd be a fool not to heed it."

Coy and coquettish was a stretch for Sasquatch's talents. "Not even a teeeensy one?"

Blowhole's morals were nothing if not stretchable. "Well, maybe one. Nothing harder than booze, though."

"Thaaaat's my boss."

"Mmmmhm. Gotta go. Keep on the straight and narrow because the artic will pick up you and Hugo any time now. The three weeks might be flex time to get you scheduled for Copenhagen's lab and you don't want to be hauled out of your habitat drunk as a skunk."

Teasing proved more attainable than coyness. "Sir! I beg your pardon!"

"Can it, old woman. Blowhole away."

IOIOIOIOIO

TBC

 


	47. Chapter 47

The late morning sun warmed the zoo as the A.A.R.P. inductees began a relaxing game of cards on the topmost level of their outdoor habitat. "I know it's our regular card day, but playin' cards on Tuesday _mornin'_ doesn't feel right somehow." Private licked his hole card giveaway that the others needed to see to play correctly. He stuck the pasteboard on his forehead as the others concentrated on deciphering the best strategy with their own dealt cards. As with other sessions of pleasant diversion, the outer world fell away from the dominion of time.

"Stomp The Wombat, Bangladeshi rules" --- Kowalski triaged his commander without seeming to --- "and one point seventeen degree punishment."

"Rubbing it in, Kowalski? I'll be back up to nine degrees before you know it and then watch out. Your glass jaw is known to us all." Skipper frowned over his fan of cards and selected one to place face down before him. "Draw one."

"Mummy! Mummy! Jag förstår inte!"

"Ditch the cards! I forgot about opening time and we're made! Rico!" Four little penguins threw their cards onto the discard pile and then three little penguins formed a united blocking front to the onlooker at the fence. They smiled and waved as Rico produced his flamethrower to eliminate the evidence that these birds were leagues beyond ordinary. Rico wafted away the smoke and took his place at his commander's side after he disposed of the flamethrower in the usual manner.

"Aw. Gdhand."

"I know, I know. Another time. Now where's our cheery smile? Not that one, the other one. There you go."

The boy's mother walked up, thumbing what looked like a guidebook. "Hur säger man _ilmatyynyalukseni on täynnä ankeriaita_ på svenska?"

"Mummy, the English today, please."

"Ja, Per. What did you be seeing?"

"Penguins playing the gambling cards. How can this happen?"

"It is not the regular, but these are American birds. Let us give them the break." She opened her fur coat at the throat and patted her son on his bright blond head mostly covered by his knit cap. "The weather is tipping the toes towards spring. We are preparing the trip to Sweden for tomorrow morning. The outdoor sports with the Mormor will be fun, ja?"

Skipper saw the pout, which was oh so familiar to him as a commander. He chuckled when the boy said, "Mormor and Farmor ski the whole day long with us when we visit. When is the video game time?"

"Poor little dumpling, always with the thumbs and the sounding effects. Your mummy and fadder have plan. For being the good student, you will play the video games on the handheld all the time we are on ferry to Sweden _and_ back to Åland."

Skipper leaned forward as he listened hard to put this intel together with any Viking homeschooling conspiracy agenda. It might fit if the video games were the usual conquering or shooting types. He was taken aback by the boy's response.

"Tusen tack, Mummy! _The Sims 3_ for the win! I make the family with the two babies and the four vallhund with their puppies and three budgies and the Volvo --- "

Oh. The conspiracy theory returned to the back burner. He looked around to make sure nobody on his team noticed his special attention to the boy and his mother, but they all knew him too well. Rico whistled, Private made a rude noise unusual for him, and Kowalski rolled his eyes. Then Kowalski perked up at the mother's next words as the boy drew near at her gesture while she pointed to something. She lowered her book to his level.

"We leave from Mariehamn via the Road 1 to Berghamn on Eckerö Island for ferry. We pass the airport" --- all four penguins stopped smiling --- "after nearly ten kilometers', pardon, six miles' drive and then ---"

"What is this blank spacing, Mummy?"

"That is the Möckelö area near Bursfjården. The land near the fjord by the airport has few peoples because who wants to be hearing airplanes all the time where you live? Lonely Möckelövågen Road joins the main Road 1 here but as we drive on --- "

The penguins stopped waving as they absorbed this intel. Skipper's gut rumbled and they nodded in agreement. Before Kowalski could say anything, the mother continued reading from her book to her son, who capered as if he could not wait to leave on his trip. He tossed his knit cap into the air as she pursued their itinerary.

"Fadder wants us arise at 5 in the a.m. to make the special 7:30 ferry to Grisslehamn."

Per's "Whyyyyyyyy?" reminded them all of Mort's cry of uncomprehending juvenile despair over cruel fate visited on him by authority figures.

"This is for the international cooperation, Per. The special 7:30 ferry will have the sasquatch on it with us. She is going by artic to Copenhagen for testing in laboratory. Natural History Museum Centre for GeoGenetics has set aside this time for her and we Scandinavians cooperate with each other in peace. Now we leave at the early hour but we stop for breakfast along the way will that not be fun --- "

The penguins stopped listening. There was a profound silence after the two humans departed that was broken only by Skipper's gut sounds. "We knew this was coming. We know the hour. We know the place. We act. Told you!"

"Labs schedule their times carefully, Skipper, and despite what we are focused on with Blowhole and Sasquatch, they have other programs ongoing than testing her. Your gut seems to have an in with both Denmark _and_ St. Urho. I bow to it." He performed the action and ducked away from Skipper's butt slap. "When he knew our destination, Ted told me a bit about Åland's layout since he comes from near here. There's a good chance Möckelövågen Road is Blowhole's lie out since it's near the fjord and he may have wanted a swim now and then."

"It's not chance, it's fate and how did you get Ted to shut up about it? You know how he talks and talks."

Kowalski attempted humility. "I just listened and nodded at the important parts and tuned out the rest. You should try it sometime."

"In my next reincarnation, amigo. For now, we are sitting pretty. Up high!"

The rest of the daylight hours passed by with ample time for the introspection that Skipper usually avoided like the avian plague. The group performed for a reasonable amount of guests in turns by flopping with no grace into the water, splashing playfully at each other while avoiding getting Skipper wet and joining him in sets of one or two when he looked lonely sitting on the beach. He did little that afternoon beyond a few comic waddles and seemed to be conserving his strength for the next day. Somehow the penguins gravitated to two conversation pits on opposite ends of the small beach as the day progressed. Kowalski claimed first one-on-one time with his leader and expounded on Blowhole's financing scheme to Skipper's limited understanding or interest.

"Science knows that sea monkeys are just brine shrimp that have a dancing gene, like Julien --- "

"Don't mention Ringtail! I nearly forgot about how much time I waste with him, and now you're giving me heartburn on top of all my other problems!"

Oh oh, he'd managed to upset the applecart. "Easy, sir, eeeeasy." He took another tack as he reaffirmed the importance of their mission per Dr. Phil's instruction _if you want a different result, choose a different behavior._ "Blowhole is mutating ice worms to giants to melt ice --- again --- with their natural anti-freeze and he'll succeed without our intervention because there are no natural predators big enough to control them. It's diabolical!"

The tactic worked as Skipper shifted focus. "We're here. _We're_ all the predators we need."

"Well put, sir." Kowalski beat feet for another mind clearing swim and Private took his place.

"How is the water, Private?"

"Whee, fantastic! See how it sparkles in the sun like a really sparkly thing!"

"Couldn't be any prettier." Skipper flicked away stray droplets from Private's head.

Private shook himself like a golden retriever. "Oh! I forgot!" He brushed away the droplets that had spattered Skipper's front while Skipper folded both flippers over the bare spot on the breastbone. "I didn't get any into the skin oh no _please_ say no --- "

"Dial down the panic, compadre. I'm all right. Plotz."

Private plotzed. "Whew. I had a nightmare last night that you didn't recover from Kastelholm."

"Aw, was that what that was? Nah, I'll be around for your next promotion." The late afternoon breeze from the Gulf of Bothnia picked up a candy wrapper that some kiddie had dropped despite Scandinavian neatness. It flew into Private's face and he examined it.

"Skippa, I'll make it up to you. It's not a Peanut Butter Winkie but it might be a treat." Private everted the wrapper to show a tad of taffy still on the inside. He held it as Skipper licked.

"Mmmm. Okay itth tathty _smack_ like _smack_ butterthcotth. Here, I left you half." He held the wrapper as Private polished it off and then crumpled the wrapper under a rock for disposal later. "Look at that Rico. He's our power swimmer on the team." Rico had lost count of his orbits around the habitat and so had everyone else. He porpoised in front of the beach with a "Yeehawwww!" before slipping under once more.

"Yeah. He's so happy. He'll have Miss Perky to welcome him home."

"Maybe that's why he didn't bring her along. You can't miss someone if they're with you all the time."

Private folded his flippers demurely on his lap. "Skippa, why didn't you order K'walski to stop seein' Doris after the first um, rejection when he fell apart?"

"Oh hell. Did I ever mention I hate delays?" Skipper lowered his voice even though Kowalski had just now sprawled onto a lie out at the farther end of the beach. "Private, I'm not the love police. There's no need to force the issue because uno, it wouldn't do any good and dos, it's not my business." He grew stern. "It's not yours, either. He's an adult just like you and I wouldn't interfere in your love life. It's acceptable if he wants to think about her day, noon, and night, and as long as it doesn't hurt our team and there's no abuse involved --- "

Private traced a heart in the sand. "Wot if I asked you to interfere in mine if there was um, abuse?"

"Are you keeping something from me? Nelson's column, don't tell me you have been rendezvousing with somebody by the Petting Zoo _please_ don't let the name be right on --- "

"Skippa! Not bloody likely!"

"Well?"

"I'm just askin' for a worst case scenario like you always say for me to ask myself _wot would Skippa do?"_

"Good you're not involved with anybody in this part of your commando training, keep it up. Um."

The gurgling of water in the drainage grate filled the silence and Skipper had nearly bio-feedbacked his heart rate to normal when Private piped up with another poser.

"Skippa, do you think Åland is more relaxin' than our holiday in Hoboken?"

"I didn't nearly die in Hoboken despite my evil bio-mechanical android double, young Private, so that's a no."

"Oh."

The innocent question sparked a deeper thought. "I can't remember clearly, but I might have sneaked a peek at the Endless Iceberg when I dipped my pinkie claw into the Eternally Foggy Sea. It didn't look so bad." He winked at Private. "That was sort of relaxing."

"Don't joke about it, Skippa."

Another thought struck. "In fact, I may have gotten a tour of the place pre-need, so to speak. I think I remember flying towards the Light, but everything is hazy."

"Stop. Just stop." Private couldn't tolerate the subject any longer.

Henbane couldn't have shown the truth to Skipper any clearer. "Ah, then, you're too young to have this conversation. Come on, what do you think the point spread will be when the Rangers defeat the Ducks tomorrow night? I'm betting it's one. Raanta is revved up to keep the spread down and I'm _sure_ they'll win this time."

" _Are_ you so certain, then? Ow!"

"That was a tiny slap, Private, don't overreact. Yup, my gut is sure. Next question?"

"Oh, um, my next question can wait. Here's Rico to keep you company." Private scurried away to settle by Kowalski's lie out.

It was nearing closing time as Rico plopped onto his belly to allow Skipper to brush away water droplets from his back. He eased into a catnap in the sun. He jerked awake to startle up a smoke bomb when, after some minutes, Skipper smacked his butt with a "Mother of Mercy, is this the end of Rico?" followed by a loon-like laugh. Coughing and sputtering, the two made sure no human saw the interchange and then cackled to themselves for a long time.

IOIOIOIOIO

"Oh those two. They are more alike than Skipper wants to believe." Kowalski shook his head. "Eh, Private, I'm at a loss to say why Dave and Blowhole's genetic marker system seems off regarding how ice is to be melted. Give me a distraction."

"K'walski, why does Skippa need to win _all_ the time?"

"It's for the team and well, for his own sake. He's just that good at what he does."

Private sighed with the realization of his limited experience. "I suppose it's beyond me. It's like I always wondered why you and Doris kept talkin' to each other now and again even after you two broke up the first time." He added more than he had originally intended to. "I mean, I saw her run over you three times with her brother's segway the last time we faced Blowhole --- "

"She didn't aim for me, I'm sure. It just happened."

"When you met after the first split, did she ever ask you if you'd moved on, then?"

Kowalski thought hard. "She did the first time we met on Liberty Island. I said no and she stopped asking. I want the best for her and if my opinion helps her see that she's just playing the field, maybe she'll come back to me."

"I think she's mean. Why would you want her?"

"That's personal, Private." Kowalski cleared his throat. "Yes, it hurt me to see her but she needed advice with one boyfriend after another and --- well, you're a virgin. You wouldn't understand."

"Rude!"

"I'm sorry, but you just wouldn't. It's not your fault."

Private rose and strode away but not before tossing a final remark over his shoulder. "Skippa's right. Delays _are_ hurtful."

"Private! I didn't mean --- Fibonacci's sequence, I've done it again." Kowalski saw Private say something to Skipper and afterwards Skipper and Rico looked his way. He lay down flat and studied the clear sky. It was blue as a robin's new egg and getting a touch warmer each afternoon now that the watermelon snow was in its final bloom before its spring thaw. Soon the delightful pinkish red stuff would melt into bloody tears to feed a growing stream of runoff from a winter that had died. He didn't look around as Rico settled beside him.

"Kwoskii."

"I know, I know. I deserve whatever you say. He's right and I was rude. I'll make it up to him, okay?"

Rico huffed. "Noddit."

"Well, what do you want, then?"

''The true friend is one that's coming in the door when everyone else is going out."

Kowalski shot upright. _"What_ did you say? _How did you say it?"_ Rico flourished a small tape recorder as he held down the 'pause' button. "Oh. You finally got around to horking up a tape recorder so Private doesn't need to memorize the Åland log entries for Skipper. For a minute there, you had me going." He thought a moment more. "That was one of Dr. Phil's sayings. Thanks for coming in the door, I guess."

"'Rivate okay nao. Sez yrrite."

Kowalski groaned. "So what. I put my foot in my beak again. What else is new?"

"Noo myoozik. Lissen." Rico released the 'pause' button and a plaintive tune twanged across the beach. If there had been any guests left, Americans and not a few international visitors would have recognized the inimitable Hank Williams crooning one of his best. Rico reclined by his bunkmate.

"All right, all right. He's a great singer. Music me away, big fella." Kowalski's look of smug knowledge shattered like a lacework Meissen dessert plate dropped upon a marble floor as the song continued. "I haven't heard this one before. Why did you choose it?"

"Lissen."

The music carried them along until _In anger unkind words are said that make the teardrops start. Why can't you free your doubtful mind, and melt your cold cold heart_ gave Kowalski pause. "I'm not angry with anyone, Rico, even though I was unkind to Private. It's a grand song but inappropriate if you think it applies to me."

Rico held his flipper over the recorder's buttons so his friend couldn't disrupt the song and when Hank sang _You'll never know how much it hurts to see you sit and cry_ he had good reason to. "Shut it off. Just because I mention Doris now and then doesn't mean I _weep_ over her loss, for goodness' sake."

Rico slapped away his friend's errant quest for the 'pause' button. "Lissen." The song concluded and _Move It On Over_ began. "Happyer."

"Hmmmph. Very well. This one does apply to our being forced into conj---er, communal sleeping spaces." They shared a laugh at _this dog house here is mighty small but it's better than no house at all_ before Skipper called them for evening recon waddle around the habitat.

"Team, the plan is set and we are set for battle. We roll at the usual time tonight for what ought to be the last trudge to the moose habitat. This time tomorrow, we'll be deciding how to celebrate St. Patrick's Day. I'm for getting jiggy with it, are you?"

"Yeah!"

"Everybody sick of downtime?"

_"Yeah!"_

"Me, too!"

IOIOIOIOIO

TBC

 


	48. Chapter 48

At Skipper's request for privacy, his physical took place on the top level of their habitat in the very last bit of daylight. After much whispering, Private and Rico had departed to ready themselves for battle in the interior space.

Kowalski blew gently on the bald spot on Skipper's front to determine his combat fitness. After palpating the entire area, he declared that the swelling caused by the bruised spleen had improved and that the battle was not yet over to replace the sleek coat. "The white feathers are winning, but underneath will be the worst of your scars ever, sir."

"Meh."

"When you moult, it will show."

"Meh."

"The feathers might not grow in evenly after the moult."

"Meh."

"It could compromise your waterproofing ability. The Doc will have something more specialized to stop scarring than what is in my medico bag. We could raid his office in a surgical strike when we return to New York City."

"M-oh. _'Surgical_ strike'? You're cute. No needles?"

"No needles."

"If you think it's that important, we can schedule Operation: Operation first thing when we get back."

 _"Now_ who's being cute?" Kowalski continued the mandatory pre-mission exam. As the last bit of sun danced on the cusp of night, the sky's robin's egg blue shifted to a divine glaze of eggshell white over azure enamel. "You're up to sixty-nine per cent of your normal baseline in speed, strength, endurance and agility," he concluded. "A whole nineteen per cent more than the last exam. Congratulations."

"Aw, shiiiiii---take mushrooms. I'll need to depend on you all to run interference for me. I, I'm sorry, soldier."

"This isn't the first time --- "

Skipper looked down at his nude strip. "It may be for the highest stakes. When our possessed car knocked me out cold, Rico faced it down and won. If it had done us both in, the world would be out two penguins. If we fail now, the ice melt changes the world for the worse."

 _"Our_ little world would have been rocked without Rico and you." Kowalski stood straighter. "That counts for something."

"Pshaw. Moving along, did you kiss and make up with the Private?"

"Yeah. He told me that Prince Sharesalot says _Oversharing is not the Lunacorn Way._ That was awkward all around. Me and my big beak."

"What you said was the truth."

"So what. I don't need to be little Mister Truth-teller."

"Our team would be poorer if the sensitivity got knocked out of him, but yeah, some truths none of us like to hear. His truth is too cute for words."

"Marlene called him a sweetie."

"She ought to know. She's sweet as a Winkie herself and smart as a licorice whip."

"I agree, sir. We're done here." Kowalski used Ole's telescope to survey the horizon of the darkening sky as Skipper watched. He sighted in the evening star and the places where Arcturus and the Ploughman and the Bears would appear later. "Star positions charted and my internal alarm set for optimal departure window. There's a new moon tonight so Möckelövågen Road ought to be starlit only. There might be a traffic signal to govern access to Road 1, though."

"Darkness is the best cover of all. What did I tell you about fate? Even the moon is with us. Or, in this case, not."

They trooped down the ramp to discover Private and Rico waiting for them. Rico stood three steps back from the foot of the ramp and Private stood three steps back from his penguin brother and one step to the side from Rico's right flipper. "We're practicin' a smashin' new routine. K'walski, you get on Rico's left side opposite me, Skippa, you get six steps directly behind Rico. On my mark, we charge up the ramp." 

Kowalski got into place with a broad smile after returning Ole's telescope to Faux Skipper's corner. "Svinfylking!"

"Bless you!" the others chorused.

"No, svinfylking is the Viking name for the flying wedge attack."

Rico broke formation as he turned around with a scowl. _"Futball!"_

"Riiiight, Rico, the New York Behemoths use this tactic with another name, but it's the same principle of warriors guarding the weaker element inside ... their ... oh Tesla's manners, I've done it again."

"Ouch, Kowalski."

"Sorry, Skipper! You know what I mean."

Rico grumped _futball_ under his breath and took up his place. "Mark!" cried Private. The wedge stormed uphill and by the top, their superb muscle memories catalogued the routine. After three more practices, it became second nature.

"Wot'll we name it?"

"Your call, soldier."

"We're lackin' a Routine Ten."

"Ten it is. Lights out, gentlemen." Skipper added the zinger that had just popped into his head. "The whole mission ought to be a _milk run."_

The groans did not subside for some time.

IOIOIOIOIO

Imelda did her best to stage whisper. "GUYTH! _GUYTH!"_

Kowalski assumed that Marcus was sleeping and waved the others on as he waddled to the polar bears' fence. He pointed to where she had previously loosened two bars on the top rail. "You may need to part these soon. The artic picks up Sasquatch and Hugo soon and we're moving against Blowhole before dawn, Imelda. If everything goes pear-shaped and none of us come back, just look innocent. If Sasquatch and Hugo get shafted back here by zoo overlords and we don't, see what you can do to free them because they really don't belong in a zoo anymore. Thank you for all you've done so far in surveillance and consulting on Skipper's health."

"I'll do what I CAN without endangering Marcuth. How ITH Thkipper?"

"Not too bad off. He's healing fast."

Imelda swam her moat to poke her nose through the fence. "That'th motht ECTHELLENT. Good care on YOUR part."

"We tried hard. Uh, well, this is it, as the saying goes. Goodbye."

"Bye!" Marcus' treble piped across the echoing waters.

"QUIET, THON!" Imelda's bellow made Kowalski wince. He slid to catch up with his team.

The four entered the moose habitat in the usual way. Because of the moonless night, they nearly missed Sasquatch stretching her arms to the sky as she stood atop the scaffolding with its attached ladder extended as high up as possible. After her wail faded, they paused until she somersaulted down in front of them. "Welcome," she said and led the way into her stable.

IOIOIOIOIO

''Go ahead, whoever is calling, make my night better. I dare you."

"Agent Twelve reporting. Brief surveillance complete. The Centre for GeoGenetic Research artic is in the zoo's parking lot, repeat, the artic is in the zoo's parking lot. Shipment transfer to Copenhagen indicated for tomorrow on the 7:30 a.m. ferry for Sweden from Berghamn on Åland. Estimated time of departure from zoo 5 a.m. via assumed most direct route which is Road 1. Twelve out."

"Twelvie! Go-o-o-o-o-o-d to hear your voice, lady! How's it going scooting around the island on the old Vespa?"

"What?"

"I mean, it must be a little fun, right? The wind in your ears, the sense of clandestine activity being discovered at any moment giving the cardio a bit of a workout? Come on, I've been cooped up in this lorry for ages so entertain me with a timely travelogue, you tusked terror of the tundra!"

"Walruses do not have ears and we do not live on the tundra."

"I was just going for alliteration. It's a weakness. Don't get offended!"

"Mmmm. As for the Vespa you provided, I traded it in for a hog."

"You needed to check with me first, Twelve. I venture that even in your human disguise, a person riding a Blue Ribbon Yorkshire sow around town gathers unwanted --- "

"A hog is a Harley-Davidson motorcycle imported from the colonies. It's a customized Trike Model Tri-Glide Ultra for your financial records. You ought to receive the invoice on your iPhone soonest. My weight and a Vespa's capabilities are incompatible."

"Oh, er, uh, I wanted to flatter you --- "

"Not necessary. Twelve out."

"Wait! Don't go! Wait. I want to talk to _someone_ who understands the larger issues, like my bigger plan than murdering Skipper --- "

"Yeah, Twelve, us crabs are all talked out. Wait'll he gets going on --- "

"Shut it, Blue Three. You can be replaced on one seashore shell gathering soirée, I don't _care_ about your seniority."

"Blowhole, this is becoming embarrassing. What do you want from me? I am nobody alluring like Agent Fiona ffolkes and you are no Commodore Danger. I work alone."

"I just want to talk. I'll pay you overtime."

"Very well, let's synchronize. You're on the clock starting at ... 2213 hours. I'm by the ocean where I cached the Trike so if you hear soughing noises, that's not me snoring, that's the tide coming in. Really."

"Whatever. So, um, Twelvie, do you believe in an afterlife?"

IOIOIOIOIO

Skipper paced in front of his augmented team or 'herd,' as Sasquatch would put it. "We must assume that Blowhole accessed information about your departure. He's got all the good stuff to gather intel despite being a bad guy." Kowalski growled but his leader ignored it. "His plan to plant a spike strip along Road 1 means you're in for a rough few minutes' ride. Be warned." Sasquatch and Hugo had moved their space heaters farther apart again, he noticed, and speculated as to the reason. Hugo had listened to the details of timing, fjord placement, road numbers and isolated country spots with the concentration of his solemn orangutan kind while Sasquatch showed a lesser degree of attention.

"So now I know what it's like having someone out for my particular hide," Sasquatch began. "It's the opposite of what a herd animal ever wants to feel." She looked like she was hunting for words and Skipper was disinclined to lend aid. Helping her physically relocate and stay alive was one thing, helping her psychologically was not his strong point. He gave what he could to a temporary ally and bulled on through.

"Yeah, so now you know. It became part of living when you danced with Lady -- I mean Sir Danger. Anyway, Blowhole didn't say for sure he was planning to off you and if you make yourself valuable to him, he won't. That's the scenario if we fail and you play him for a ride out of Dodge, sister. Figure out his motivations, figure out how to make them work to your advantage. Tonight you ought to mellow him out by referring to his successes with your change into an assassin, something like that. You play it by earho- um, ear." He sized her up and noted the worry wrinkles around her deepset eyes. "You can do this."

She took a measured breath. "If you say so." She glanced at Hugo, who nodded. "Afterwards, there's no need for you and your herd to waddle back to your habitat for rest. Stay here and be fresh to go when your beta says."

"I'll take you up on that. We brought what we needed with us." Skipper demonstrated combat poses that he favored. "And Rico will supply the rest." Rico pointed to his belly.

"Amazing."

Skipper puffed out his chest with pride and then deflated with a wince. "Anyway, we got calidad excelente intel and the point is not to make him suspect anything is going on. If he doesn't mention that the artic picks up you two tomorrow, then he's blowing off your whole deal and you'll have that to add to your file on him."

Kowalski broke in. "That option would imply he's figured out a way to assassinate his assassin and steal her body so no lab could dissect it for DNA study. Hugo's death could be arranged as seeming to succumb to old age. Fascinating." At Sasquatch's unsettled look, he added, "In a scientific way. No one here wants --- "

"Ahem. We'd still accomplish our mission against him and free you two before that could happen unless he throws a real spider monkey wrench into our plans by doing that in the next few hours. Catastrophes are part of life, you think about them and then step out in faith, as Ole might say." Skipper looked up as if for inspiration. "Let's say that he is pretending to be fair with you for a while, what does he think of Hugo riding along?"

"Blowhole said it was all right, but Hugo doesn't want to go now." Sasquatch stated this disappointment calmly enough. Skipper admired that in an animal.

Hugo looked embarrassed. "I got cold feet. You all don't know how it is to be old and weak --- "

Skipper already had moved on to specifics. "What if they toss you into the artic with her?"

"I'll pitch a tantrum and the humans will think it's because I'm senile. I can act like I'll probably be someday."

That dispirited statement seemed to clinch the subject until Sasquatch burst out of her calm. "Where did your courage go? I thought you wanted freedom and this is your chance --- "

"Ayam, let it be --- "

"I tried, I really tried to help a friend and what did it get me? Alone with my enemy and forced to keep up an act that is _torture ---_ "

No _way_ was Skipper allowing the mission to disintegrate because of a squabble. "Hugo, you have the right to refuse. Sasquatch, deal. We're your herd for the time being and you'll only be alone with that nutjob for maybe minutes before we blow something up --- "

Rico made a happy sound.

Arcturus sliced the dark skies like a shuriken as Kowalski pointed to it from the north doorway. "The safety window is closing. He'll call soon."

"I've got to know that you're able to handle this. Can you?" Skipper drilled her with the look reserved for troops too shaken to follow orders. It had always worked before.

In the end, it took Rico to lend her part of his nonchalance. "Ah-kwatch, keepcalmncarryon. 'Kippaaaahnuson _yr_ side."

"Yeah. What he said," Skipper added. Sasquatch's lips trembled as she nodded. She moved to the window to gather strength from an absent moon that shone inside her. When the carrier dot flared, his team had already chucked Skipper onto the rafter with Kowalski steadying him this time. The others waited behind the manger.

"What's cooking, boss?" She started the conversation with a question and Kowalski frowned. Dr. Phil said _questions are like attacks_. He breathed easier at Blowhole's reply and felt Skipper relax against him.

"Kebabs of dull with bland sprinkles. How's it going with you?"

"I'm meditating on your place in my life instead of hitting the sauce. You know" --- she looked upwards at Skipper who drew his flipper across his throat and then her gaze lost focus realistically as if she were thinking hard to form a clear statement --- "you're a genius making me into your assassin the way you did."

"So I'm told."

Skipper couldn't fault her for using Routine Three: Be Polite If It Kills You. He waited to see if Blowhole's withdrawn mood changed. "Who told you besides me that you're a genius?"

"Sis did even before I got my degree and then Dave and recently the Mole Men. The term lost its charm after Skipper's ghost appeared to me." Atop the rafter, Skipper's jaw dropped. Kowalski threw a flipper around him as he leaned forward.

"Er, why aren't you flying high _because_ of that? Enlighten me, boss."

"No more worlds to conquer, one less bell to answer, one less bird to pick up after, I don't know who my mind is going to play against now that he's in the Good Place. I can hardly reach him _there_ even after _I_ kick the chumbucket. I'm thinking ahead to my next earthly scheme, what can I tell you? It's the curse of genius."

"I thought you'd be happy as a calf in clover tonight." She seemed to search for words of cheer. "I know, how about a good rondelay? _Row row row your_ \--- "

 _"Don't._ Life is not a dream." His voice got harder. "You and what's-his-name get ready because tomorrow morning the artic picks you up. Actually it's more like dead of night pickup, but be on the lookout for me. I'll be the one with the spike strip six miles out." Sasquatch allowed herself to jump for joy, but before she could arrange properly elated features on her face, he signed off with a terse, "Blowhole over."

"Catch me." Skipper sailed down without looking who would catch him. "Sparta's expected ending, I don't understand that at all."

Private let go of his leader. "Skippa, he's feelin' the pain of loss. Mind you, it's not wot _we_ think of as loss but it is a change for him and maybe he never thought to have it happen? Maybe he's got nothin' inside of him to help him carry on?" Private looked down. "That's wot he sounded like to me. Maybe I'm wrong."

"Yr _rite."_

"I think so too, Rico. It seems Blowhole is only brain and no brawn of the intestinal fortitude kind." Kowalski looked smug in the knowledge that he had both.

Skipper tapped his forehead. "Hmmm. Okay okay, that's a _good_ thing for the mission. He's depressed because I died and he can be taken offguard easier did you ever hear the guff coming out of your beak at crucial times it's impossible he is in _mourning --- "_

"It's possible," Hugo contributed. "Depression dulls the senses. He'll be the lesser dolphin for his weakness." He yawned. "I'm ready for this day to end. Good luck, penguins." He curled around his space heater. "Selamat tidur, ayam."

Sasquatch tightened her lips and didn't answer. After a moment, sonorous snores similar to Rockgut's filled the stable. She jerked a thumb in her friend's direction. "He's right about _that,_ anyway. Time to rest. Make yourselves to home."

Skipper and his crew formed a puppy pile of penguins as Sasquatch squatted before the heater to rub her hands. The carrier dot plus the heater's coils illuminating Sasquatch's brooding outline were the last things that Skipper saw before he closed his eyes. As he drifted away to slumber on Private's chest, he reflected that this would be the closest she had been to bedding down with a companionable herd in a long time. It ought to make her more content with her friend's change of heart. When Kowalski roused them, she had stretched out by the north doorway and bid them a sober farewell from her prone position. Hugo didn't awaken.

IOIOIOIOIO

"Wait for it. Waaaiiiit for it --- " The driver's door to the milk truck opened and a man in a tidy cream uniform descended. As he made his way to the back of the milk truck, the penguin commandos sidled around the billboard post to keep out of his sight. The man whistled a merry tune as he gathered milk crates and stacked them on a handcart, performed a kick-out on his load and trundled it into the café after punching a security code on its back door.

"Now!" Private vaulted on top of the milk truck. There was a sleek aerodynamic feel to the truck that Scandinavian engineers must have been proud of and the roof's edges were rounded for a spoiler. Private braced himself for the burden as Skipper hurtled towards him. The commander's hug upon arrival steadied them both as the two of them pressed themselves onto the slick surface, Skipper supine and Private prone. When Kowalski and Rico appeared as if by magic onto the roof, the three did better anchoring Skipper by each flipper and both feet than they did with themselves. The moonless night witnessed a series of high-ones of epic proportions before the driver clanked his way back with the empties, slammed the back door shut and hustled into the driver's seat. The truck with its stowaways took off.

"Time?" Skipper asked over the surprisingly quiet truck noise.

"Will you listen to that! This is a hybrid I think no rumble it's a honey organic milk truck for a greener Åland _win_ with Volvo --- "

"Kowalski! Can the geek and open the speak! I said what time is it!"

Kowalski craned his neck to seek the stars. "Five oh one and forty-three seconds."

"Number of delivery stops?"

The truck bumped over a pothole left over from winter's wear on roads. It was too early in the season yet to be repaired by vigilant civil servants. Kowalski pressed harder on Skipper's left flipper as all four penguins slid a bit.

"Unknown, sir. Mariehamn's population is 11,521 and we may assume corresponding amounts of public buildings since it is the capital of the island and also numerous touristy cafés and such along with private homes." He paused. "As you said, hippie Viking solstice worshippers love their organics."

Skipper had had days of delay to fine tune his battle plan. "Keep track of the landmarks in the city as we pass. We want to return near the zoo and not ride all the way back to the milk distribution plant. The rest of you help, too, because Kowalski also needs to estimate six miles' passage. Damn, there aren't many tall buildings for me to scope out from flat on my back to assist." He looked to the left and right and down his body. Just past the hump of his spare tire waved Rico's topknot in the breeze as he secured his leader's feet. "I'm drowning in a rookery of penguins."

"Aye, sir. We wouldn't have it any other way."

"In the name of Balaclava's cavalry, can we be off at last? Hooha!"

IOIOIOIOIO

TBC


	49. Chapter 49

_"Night is young and the music's high_

_With a bit of rock music, everything is fine_

_You're in the mood for a dance and when you get the chance ..._

_You are the Dancing Queen, young and sweet, only seventeen_

_Dancing Queen, feel the beat from the tambourine, ohhhhh yeahhhhhhh ..."_

Four little penguins clung in a clump as they skittered this way and that on a milk truck roof whose singing driver seemed bent on breaking his personal best delivery record. Their ground speed factored into Kowalski's calculations as he calibrated his internal compass to compensate for a dizzying assortment of right-left-right-right-lefts in downtown Mariehamn while calculating mileage to Blowhole's location. At the moment, he wished he were piloting their rocketship with its pure straight trajectory to the lunar surface.

Rico and Private joined him in scrabbling their claws for little purchase on the glassy surface while clutching Skipper's extremities to the point of pain. Whether they moved vertically from bouncing over a pothole or horizontally from a razor sharp turn, it was in a formation resembling one of their more ambitious water routines. The water they navigated was not the PH balanced liquid of a zoo moat but the slickening frost of a typical night in late winter. The diligent driver had waxed his vehicle lately, too.

The man owned an agreeable voice that lilted through the dark from his vehicle's open driver side window. "H-h-h-h-eeee's a fr-fr-fresh air _f-f-f-iend!_ " blurted Private as the sleepy city passed. One of the few tall buildings that Skipper could home in on for later return coordinates was an ancient church with a minimalist steeple. It lacked a gilt cross at its summit and that alone made it memorable although a bit plain to his taste.

"K-Keep it _t-together_ and keep it _d-d-d-down_ , men," husked Skipper. "O-Only six m-miles."

At the eighth midtown café stop after the lone hospital delivery, Kowalski recalculated their time. "Five twenty-three a.m. and two seconds," he whispered.

Feeling returned to his flippers and feet as Skipper's team let up the stabilizing pressure at each stop. "Oh he's efficient," he whispered back. "And he speaks English."

"This driver may or may not speak English, but ABBA learned their songs phonetically, I believe, sir."

"Good on them." The man returned and the truck again pulled out, but this time left the city behind for the open road. Stars wheeled overhead where trees did not block them, and Kowalski calculated furiously as they sped over bridges and made two more deliveries to isolated homes.

The driver put the pedal to the metal as the road switchbacked and he doubtless knew every twist and turn of his route. After he left the city, he drove even faster over the mostly deserted road. The penguins skidded near the curved edge of the roof more than once to be saved by a last minute wriggle by Rico or Kowalski. 

As Skipper's extremities numbed once more, he flashed on a hideous vision of losing his team one by one over the sides as they let go of him to avoid pulling down their commander and their teammates. He had no feeling in flippers or feet, but he would bust a gut trying to save them from this fate. He refused to lose _any_ of them, he refused to make the choice because all were deserving. The phantasmagoria ended as he heard Rico and Kowalski trill to him in reedy voices from the Endless Iceberg _we understand that you had a chance to save Private and not us we don't blame you_ while Manfredi and Johnson moaned a sad chorus of agreement. He blinked hard to gather himself and was still shaken when after a vicious pothole, little Private _was_ the next penguin to dangle one leg up to the thigh over the edge of the roof. He flailed his other leg in grim silence to gain traction. Kowalski and Rico clung more tightly to their commander.

Skipper turned his head to see in the boy's eyes that he was seconds away from letting go of the flipper to risk falling under the churning truck tires. He understood, he did, that _wot would Skippa do_ was running through the young penguin's mind. And _Skippa_ would be the first to put the good of the many above the good of the one, which made _Skippa_ dizzy with concern over the most junior team member.

The song billowing through the countryside quiet had changed to a suggestive ditty called 'Oh! Mister Carpenter!' As _my hammock doesn't swing, my doorbell doesn't ring, my bed has no more spring, you ought to know what to do_ rippled into the brisk air, Skipper _did_ know what to do.

"Rico! Magnet!"

The familiar noise of upchuck met with great approval as a horseshoe magnet clanked onto the rooftop. Rico stuck his feet through its middle to anchor their instability and Kowalski made a _mrff_ sound as the top half of his body squished between Skipper, the magnet and Rico's flank. Private scrambled desperately upwards to lay most of his weight upon Skipper's outstretched flipper as his beak poked Skipper in the throat. The _skrawk_ that Skipper let out reminded Private of the bird singing cheerily while Private thought his commander lay dying in a Kastelholm clearing. He edged away from the position and from the memory. "Sorry!"

Kowalski raised his head from the press of bodies to spy the sky. "Five forty-eight a.m. exactly."

The singing had stopped mid-chorus after the clunk as the magnet attached. "--- _so bring your tools up here and begin turn the knob and walk in_ \--- Baktändning? Himmel!"

The driver sounded dismayed. No more songs issued from the truck's cab.

Kowalski nestled his head on Skipper's belly to continue observing the sky. "We can hypothesize by his knowledge of that obscure song that he _does_ know English."

"Righto, K'walski, I was worried about that."

Kowalski tensed when the six mile mark approached. "See the airport turnoff sign with the airplane logo? Möckelövågen Road is shortly beyond, says Ted. He hauled out on the fjord's pier one time and gave locals a bodacious fright."

Time warped in its usual way for Private as he stuck his head up and a sight chilled him more than the rushing breeze. "Blowhole at one o'clock!" As if in a slo-mo dream, Private saw Kowalski raise up, too, leaving Rico the task of securing Skipper. The job was performed adequately by one penguin now that the magnet anchored them. Rico clung doggedly to his position as Private and Kowalski gleaned intel while they each slipped a flipper into the open part of the horseshoe magnet to stop any more sliding. The artic's tractor hauled a thirty foot trailer that they both recognized as a converted horse trailer for high end transport of several horses. The louvered windows provided air and light and actually it looked quite comfortable for any animal.

It oughtn't to have mattered that Skipper and Rico couldn't see their foe from their positions, but it did to Private. He would be their eyes. "Hooo it's only been minutes since the spike strip Blowhole's been busy he's directin' crabs to hustle away the spike strip before other vehicles hit it now he's, he's usin' wot looks like K'walski's stolen thingy _it's floatin' to the side of the trailer and cuttin' through_ \--- " Time reverted to its normal flow with Kowalski's simpler statement.

" _It's them!_ " Blowhole's activity just past the Möckelövågen Road intersection where there was a streetlight but no traffic light was coming up fast. The driver had pulled to the northern verge in what must have been a riveting display of exemplary Danish drivership. What had happened to the driver? The wind from their breakneck pace made Kowalski's eyes water, but yes, that was his lost cutter. He would need to think of the implications of that later because it was time for action. Rico kicked loose of the magnet and awaited orders.

"On my mark, we ditch this bucking bronco and take our chances _whoa whoa whoa we're turning onto Möckelövågen Road whyyy in the name of Riegels' sense of direction --- "_ The left turn onto the isolated road with likely few deliveries on it sent the clot of commandos skating off the right edge of the roof. Skipper looked up to where Ole now resided and just ... let go. He fell and Kastelholm memories surged but this time he did not fall alone. By the light of the stars, he made out Rico grabbing his hurtling body with both flippers and then the soft feathers of Rico's belly welcomed his think melon. He felt rather than saw Kowalski position himself between his midsection and the macadam to buffer the lower half of his body. If penguins had the ability to read, they would have said they resembled a capital letter H. Private went with the flow in a graceful leap and formed an exclamation point of concern once they landed to a _hmmsploofp_ from Rico and a fart from Kowalski. The milk truck sped off.

"Skippa, K'walski, Rico, you all right, then?"

Skipper removed his head from Rico's belly where cavernous sounds rumbled that he did not want to think about. "Excelente work, team. You really do know how to take a fall. I've numbed up. _¡Ayúdame!"_

The three rubbed until Skipper could stand. "Stop, Private, I'm not numb _there._ " He looked around. A grove of linden trees shaded the parked moving lorry that had to have been forty feet long. "Recon says that is Blowhole's lorry. We allow him to free Sasquatch and segway his way back here. When he opens the lorry, we take out his base, too. It's fate that we turned, gentlemen, because is is a better sitch than out in the open on Road 1." He signaled Routine Fifteen: Find Cover Fast! Soon calluna vulgaris shrubs shrouded the team.

"My plasma cutter used for evil!" mourned Kowalski. "That was one sweet looking trailer."

"How did your cutter get here, K'walski?"

"We may never know and it doesn't really matter, Private. It's another variable in the mission that we can and will deal with. Stay frosty because here they come."

The plasma cutter proved the perfect light source for secretive doings as it floated eerily beside the segway. The penguins peeked at Sasquatch scuttling in the midst of five crabby crabs. "Hey, bigfoot! Watch it!"

"Get out of my way!"

"Boss, um, she's not keeping her feet to herself, Boss --- "

"Pod preserve me from minions!" Blowhole extinguished the cutter with a gesture without touching it and punched his segway's control panel to a _chirrup_ from both driver's door and back door. A ramp slanted down as the back door opened. The crabs scurried inside the lighted interior and so did Blowhole. Sasquatch lingered outside, looking around furtively. He returned alone a minute later. "Press these magnetized logos over your artwork on each side of this lorry. I've a few things to begin on the consoles inside and then we leave." He thrust two rolled up posters at her. She undid one.

"That's a fair likeness of my head. Who drew this?"

"Photoshop and the internet for the win, bigfoot!" came the reply from inside the lorry.

"Can it and get to work, Blue Four." He turned to Sasquatch. "We disguise the lorry as the official research Natural History Museum Centre for GeoGenetics transport, board the 7:30 ferry for Grisslehamn and head for Nepal via the Öresund bridge-tunnel to mainland Europe. Trust me, nobody is going to notice the difference in vehicles. I might even toss enough euros into the farebox to make up for our evading fare last trip."

She wondered at the unexpected surge of honesty. She had to stall him for her herd, but could he really be thinking seriously of paying her as promised if they made it to Nepal? Never mind, it was a random thought that would never see fruition. She buckled down to her final task of acting. "Why not the ferry for Turku and go through Finland and Russia?"

"Who's driving, you or me? Do what I told you and get in, buckle up and shut up."

Sass made an effective weapon, she thought. "Were you this charming at Hetauda Happy Hour because I got too looped to remember --- "

He deflated. "Okay, so I'm tense. You got rid of Skipper for me, I need you to stay away from DNA labs of any nationality and I'm making good my word to you and even what's-his-name who declined my generosity. Happy?"

Could it be that he showed the tiniest shred of honor? "I'll tell you in Hetauda." She turned on her heel to complete the job as slowly as possible. Blowhole made a raspberry with his blowhole as he rolled up the ramp. Soon various dopplering sounds emerged along with a few flashes and a thrum that got on her nerves. In a more soothing display of inchoate lighting, the northern lights supplied a mellow glow that was more noticeable due to the lack of moon. As she took a breather in front of the designs she had painted on the lorry's side, she gave herself a moment to soak the aurora in before it faded with dawn. When Skipper _pssst_ ed she didn't even jump.

"There you are. What now?"

It was Kowalski who answered. "Sasquatch, how much control do you have over your EMR pulses for flea repelling?"

She demonstrated by holding the poster at arm's length by one edge. At a grunt and grimace, the poster unfurled. She relaxed and it refurled. "Don't ask me how I did that. It's a thing _he_ stuck in me along with, well --- "

"Tee Em Eye! Skippa, stop her!"

"What? I was going to say along with the things he took out of me, I guess for forever now. It doesn't matter anymore. Why do you want to know?"

Kowalski paraphrased the Channel 1 news blurb that he knew by heart. "It seems Blowhole indulged in funding a prototype Nikola One, the hybrid electricity/natural gas lorry faster and more efficient than any such existing. Twelve hundred miles range, two thousand horsepower, twice the acceleration of a normal diesel engine _hooo mama_ \--- "

"Kowalski, you're drooling." Skipper directed Rico and Private to each side of the ramp with the signal for Routine Fourteen: Don't You Dare Let That Door Close. They slid away to lookout positions under the ramp at either side. From inside the lorry spewed the hum of powered up machinery and the occasional bad smell.

Kowalski slurped and continued. "Each wheel has an electric motor and --- "

"Come on, soldier, your option clipboard is overloaded! We're dealing with a four hour takedown window, remember?" The growing daylight made Skipper antsy.

"Option one is to immobilize the lorry by frying each wheel with her EMR pulse. Option two is for Sasquatch to gain the inside and see which consoles she can take out without him suspecting. Option three is for us to apprehend him and keep up pretenses that Sasquatch is on his side as long as possible."

Skipper finished his surveillance of the length of the lorry as Kowalski finished. "We'll see those options and raise you one more: Battle, you meant battle and not apprehend. And yes, that full panoramic privacy-shielded cab makes her a honey of a lorry." He turned to Sasquatch. "We're cool?"

"We're cool." She raised her hands and the invisible energy spread to the first poster. She spread it over the faux moving lorry logo that she had painted weeks ago. "No more crying, you hear me?" she said to the little girl cradling her doll.

"Outstanding. Time?"

Kowalski squinted at the morning star.  "Six oh six and thirty-three seconds, sir."

Daylight turned the sky as pink as Private's skin the last time he moulted. As dawn progressed, Skipper's fears as to being seen by humans dwindled. Even Road 1 showed only one lone car heading west and Möckelövågen Road proved quiet. There was a flock of their fellow birds peeping high up in the linden tree, hopping from branch to branch in search of sustenance. Unlike Frankie and his cadre, the tiny birds showed no interest in what went on below them and soon flew along to another bit of woods as they moved north to cross Road 1 where Möckelövågen Road continued to the shores of Bursfjården. If he sniffed hard enough, Skipper could smell the sea and he gained heart from that.

Sasquatch finished applying the posters. "Blowhole popped a gas bomb into the cab of the artic. The driver will be out for hours, he said."

"Sister, it's just as well no humans get involved."

Sasquatch followed Kowalski's directions at each wheel. There were several doughnut shaped elements on the axles besides the wheels and he slithered underneath the luxurious lorry to point her weaponized fingers as she took a knee to reach the correct one. "There, touch this middle one with the micro inverters between the rotor and stator oh _ho_ Blowhole you got the good stuff but we are spoiling your evil game you, you --- "

"Harami?" supplied Sasquatch at the final wheel. She offered a weak grin that didn't expose her broken teeth.

Kowalski hesitated and then slipped her a high-one as she finished her job for the team. "Exactly. I support the term without knowing its full meaning."

"But you get the gist."

"I do."

"Lady! The bus is leaving!" Blowhole's voice was not as obnoxious as it generally seemed. Skipper put that observation on the back shelf as he signaled Kowalski to join Rico as he joined Private. Sasquatch ambled slowly to the foot of the ramp. Was there something welcoming in his next words? Skipper couldn't credit it, but there it was. He eavesdropped for whatever he could use while Blowhole sounded as house proud as anyone could get. If he were depressed over his arch enemy's passing, he was making a good effort to overcome it.

"Come on in! These are my digs and it's like a young urban professional's loft, you see, play, live and work all in the same space. The Blues work on the consoles tracking my progress with the worms and sea monkeys and other projects you don't know about, here is my tank for moisturizing swims, here is my bar that um, I haven't used lately but maybe on the trip we could have a drinkie or three and get reacquainted --- "

Sasquatch put on the diva look that she had rehearsed as she placed her hands on her hips. "Where's _my_ space? And the grass you promised and lichen, don't forget the lichen." Anything that he was hinting around at she was uninterested in to the extreme.

"Right here between the tank and the bar is your spot, Sasquatch, underneath my alma mater bar sign." A neon square sign strobed the outline of a crimson and blue strutting jayhawk with two letters on its chest. Words that she couldn't read completed the garish sign over a comfortable looking swivel chair with built in cupholders and seat belt. A snack stand sported tasty bunches of fescue.

"What's that sign say? I won't sit still for false advertising --- "

"Isn't it great? I ordered it from the last online extension University of Kansas reunion and it says _I only drink to make you more interesting_ isn't that the funniest thing ever um it doesn't actually apply to accomplices --- "

Sasquatch leaned casually up against a console that currently had no crab manning it. She concentrated as she shrugged off all concerns in favor of getting the job done. An observer might have noticed a set look to her gaze as if she were straining to lift something heavy. She imagined that tiny sparks played from fingernail to fingernail and the four screens rippled and then frazzled and then went blank. "So you're saying that --- "

She sashayed on when a crab that she had heard Blowhole call Blue Six looked suspiciously at her through waggling eyestalks. He leaped into the chair to commence twiddling and turning knobs with bright blue claws.

"Hold that thought! Blue One, what is happening?" Blowhole pushed aside Blue Two and the rolling lumbar chair went sailing to partially block the exit. Sasquatch could dodge or hurdle it, but for the moment played Blowhole for all she was worth. Nearby was her herd for backup and she felt confidence growing to a level she'd not experienced in long, long months.

"What's this for?" She pushed a random button on the console to no effect. "How about this one? Or that one? Is this helping, boss?"

"Go sit in the corner! I'm working here!" Blowhole's chattiness fled as one after another of his consoles darkened. The lighting flickered as the only thing working well was the neon bar sign. After a moment, what must have been secondary power sources kicked in as low emergency lighting took over. Four crabs remained at their stations with the two extras dancing nervously on all eight feet. They waved their claws in silent agitation. Blowhole swept from console to console as he panted, "If I can blend three species to produce a giant worm I can fix _this_ , now let me see --- "

Kowalski's voice rose to a level that anyone might have overheard in a non-chaotic environment. "Three? Blowhole blended three species, I never thought anyone could -- it's impossible, no it's possible if it's accomplished, quod erat demonstrandum. It's a done deal. Three." He staggered backwards from under the ramp and a stray movement towards the ramp from the crabs or Blowhole could have been disastrous. It must have been fate that everyone was intent on their problematical electronic gizmos and not looking around, but Skipper couldn't think about that now. "It's what I couldn't piece together before about his plan. I've _got_ to find out which ones and _why_. Three."

By Stormin' Norman's skivvies, the penguin was just standing there, shaking. Skipper, Rico, and Private hustled him away from danger. Skipper slapped Kowalski's forehead when they were back underneath the lorry. "Turn off the think melon, soldier!" he stage-whispered. "We're up a creek in a leaky canoe while cinnamon bears fish for salmon on the muddy bank! Er, bad folk saying, I mean waddle it off and come back to us."

"We need you, K'walski!"

Rico upended Kowalski and rattled his oblong frame. He set him upright again with a shake.

Kowalski muttered, "I don't have my lab."

Words were more effective than a slap in this case. "You have your brain. Use it."

"Aye, sir. Using." He focused. "Now. The time is now while they're off balance."

" _Excelente. Move out to commence Operation: Plug A Blowhole._ " The commandos charged up the ramp after Private made the signal for Routine Ten. Like an adze splitting effortlessly through pine, the wedge surged forward. Since Blowhole and crabs alike bent over consoles that flared, died and came back to life, it took a spare crab to spot them as they spread out in a row six inches inside the lorry. The sunrise threaded through the grove of lindens to make long shadows on the ramp that confused Blue Five. He aimed his eyestalks with both claws like binoculars and blinked harder in the emergency lighting. He let out a long whistle.

"Uh, boss, you'd better have a look at this."

"I'm busy! Take care of it! Show some initiative, for kelp's sake!"

"There's not initiative enough in the sea for me to take _them_ on." Blue Five scuttled towards the bar and hid behind it.

"Oh for the love of --- " Blowhole spun his segway towards the back door of his luxurious lorry. "Not again. In daylight I get haunted --- wait, Blue Five saw them and, and _him_ \--- you saw Skipper, right, Blue Five?"

From behind the bar came a whimper. "Yuh huh."

The red laser eye switched to a cool blue beam that raked Skipper up and down. "Alive? I'm scanning you _alive?"_

Sasquatch saw her opportunity to sow chaos and enact the saying _when in trouble, when in doubt, run in circles, scream and shout._ She dashed in a small circle, pulling at her fur. "He's a zombie! He can't be alive, I threw him down and he splatted and _bounced! I swear it, boss!"_

"Shut up, I trust you. You'd never go against me because you're too chicken."

Three penguins awaited orders, one penguin dealt them out. "Blowhole, I've got a score to settle with you."

Blowhole punched a button on his segway. There was a _whishpt_ as the ramp loaded into its slot and a _urklank_ as the steel double doors closed to enfold penguins, crabs, sasquatch and dolphin in one seething pressure cooker.

"Me first."

IOIOIOIOIO

TBC


	50. Chapter 50

For the past ten days, Skipper had gathered as intel pieces of the puzzle that was Blowhole's latest scheme. The completed border formed who what when where why. As he looked around what would become a battle arena, the inside of the lorry supplied the inside puzzle pieces comprising how and to what degree.

Four similar consoles with attached monitors hunkered two on each long wall and the whole effect was very NASA-ish. An immobile crab stared at the penguins from each rolling lumbar chair in front of the consoles with another trembling on the metal floor at the right side of his boss' segway. A 2600 gallon tank on the far right corner of the lorry gurgled as its long side paralleled the long side of the lorry to make the righthand consoles offset from the lefthand ones in a pleasing display of feng shui. A comfy swivel chair with a snack stand containing apples and grass was bolted down between the tank and a hardwood bar. The bar, which was complete with a hanging glassware rack, captured the farthest space to the left front.

Eavesdropping had divulged that one minion had fled at their mere presence to hide behind the bar. Skipper's confidence upped a notch at this thought as his battle mind mapped the layout for strategy and tactics. Takedown was the final puzzle piece and now all the piece needed was jimmying into place followed by pressure for a snap fit. Skipper was okay with pressure as he found himself considering the words of a matronly opossum.

Ma's second reading in _The Art of War_ described a battlefield on hemmed in ground governed by limited opportunities to retreat. "A small group of our enemies could crush a large number of us in cramped quarters if we can't escape easily. There needs to be some moments to plan an attack. The only worse sitch, Skipper lambie, is to fight with _no_ delay with _no_ retreat options and be desperate," she'd said. Skipper often suspected Ma of paraphrasing.

This crowded sitch needed more than immediate battle because of global consequences. What if the worms became hyperized with the destruction of one of these consoles? What if they could home in on this very lorry with a call from Blowhole's segway, undulate up the fjord and slime themselves through the crack between the double back doors to confront a team leader with poisonous _needles?_ He failed to think of a third thing, but let himself off the hook as he glanced at Kowalski who stood battle ready at his right side. Kowalski likely contained a dozen ideas neatly grouped in four sections of three.

Kowalski had been ordered to _use your brain_ ten breaths after _turn off the think melon_ but he knew the meaning was to use his brain the correct way and not meander thinking about science, prototype lorries or Doris. He forced himself to keep Blowhole in view and sidestepped ogling the lovely monitors hooked up to equally lovely mainframes. He wondered if they synched to a satellite for tracking purposes before the jealousy lobe of his brain throbbed an unwelcome message: _This is what you could do if you had no filters such as morals or friends_. He glared at Blowhole for making him think such treachery.

Private glowered at the one who had commissioned a murder in the name of shameless self-indulgence. This wasn't to be borne, he had to be stopped right here and right now. Private hadn't had much time to practice his new signature move, but there was no better situation to put it into play. No one on his team knew about it and he sneaked a guilty look to the right at his commander. It wasn't like he'd broken regulations or anything, it _wasn't._ He ran the move over and over in his mind.

Rico wondered if there were fish in the tank directly ahead of him. When this was all over and Blowhole defeated, he'd find out.

"Okay, bottlenose, who'll start the traditional leaking of the exposition? I'm betting it's you."

"You're alive and" --- Blowhole's eye resumed its regular ruby color and Skipper got ready to dodge --- "a little the worse for wear. You looked less angry when I mindjacked you off the docks to drown in Shanghai Bay, remember that night, hmmmm? Or on second thought, maybe you _can't."_

"Oh, I am _beyond_ rage about the mindjacking, Blowhole."

"You are? Good for you to cope so well. I wouldn't have thought it."

Private couldn't let this pass. "But Skippa, wot about the flashbacks you keep havin'? Last night you woke up --- "

"Ah bup bup bup, soldier! I told you what happens in the bunk _stays_ in the bunk."

Blowhole spun his segway in irritation before harpooning Private with a glare. "Quiet, small fry! He says he's _beyond_ it. Let's get down to the here and now." He appeared to be gathering hubris out of thin air after an undeniable shock to both his mind and plan. He looked down his long nose at his arch-enemy. "I've got crabs, so watch out."

"There's a shot for that nowadays --- "

 _"Blue fiddler crabs_ to help me, duh! The lobsters here have a union, some socialistic thing, I dunno. Crabs are scabs." Blue One raised a claw to say something but Blowhole ignored him.

At least Blowhole did not refer to himself in the third person like Hans did. "Oh don't tell me your problems. Moving right along, Blowhole, and speaking of tradition, I'm giving you the option of surrender." Skipper couldn't remember the last time this had actually worked but he had to try. The team functioned beautifully with four penguins and less so with three and two thirds. Sasquatch sidled away from Blowhole as he watched. Was she getting up to something independently?

Blowhole swelled his chest and then snorted. "This is going to sound crazy, but I'm glad you're alive. You're so _good"_ \--- he had to think a moment --- "at what you do, I mean, that there was going to be a challenge finding another to whet my wits on. A little bit of me thought I ought to clean up my act and do _some_ good deeds so I had a chance of meeting you in the Good Place. Was that ever a chore! Really, how do you stand it _all the time?"_

Seeing his commander at a loss for words, Kowalski decided to go for the money. Taunting generally got results in the form of intel and he was dying to find out some things, in the name of the mission, of course. "You selfish braaper. Doesn't thwarting Greenpeace make a difference to you? I mean after all, they try to help dolphinkind."

Blowhole cleared his blowhole. It made a disgusting sound and the penguins flinched as much as they had at Roger's dinner table in the sewer. "It's part of the game. I elude them or make them go where _I want_ them to go. " He waved a flipper, rolling his good eye as his bad eye remained fixed. He must have meant it as a distraction and it worked as Kowalski had to think hard to maintain focus. A blast from a laser would end any one of them. Was that a powering up hum he heard?

Even though Greenpeace's staff was human, Kowalski smoldered at their casual dismissal as Blowhole continued, "Greenpeace will be irrelevant soon anyhow, after the ocean grows to where it _ought_ to be."

All five crabs in view got a goofy look of triumph on their faces. So far only one had run for cover and that threw off Private's assessment of their cowardice. Should he go with the tried and true battle routines rather than attempt a new one? A quick look to his left showed Rico's belly rippling. _He_ was ready for anything.

Now Kowalski was on firmer ground. "Studies show that ice melt would drown the eastern seaboard and Coney Island --- "

"Where I performed three a day jumping through flaming hoops for boring humans? Yes! Go me!" Blowhole pumped a flipper, tottered on the segway and then regained his balance. "I've always wanted to see Kansas and soon I ca-a-a-a-a-an swim ri-i-i-i-i-i-ight over it. And Iowa --- "

He's excited about his plan because he's makin' that dolphin noxious noise more, so maybe I can distract him with Routine Thirty-Two, thought Private. "Iowa and Kansas _are_ nice and flat --- "

"Private, no encouraging him." Private subsided with what looked like an abashed flipper drawn over his forehead.

Kowalski had to finish his sentence. " --- but Kansas would be the _same_ and Iowa slightly affected."

Blowhole sagged. "You're sure? Aw, snap. I really wanted to swim over Salina, Stockton, and Sawyer ... wai-i-i-i-tt." The electronic eye flashed balefully and for a moment Kowalski thought he'd gone too far in baiting the dolphin mastermind. Would the weirdo transmit a killing beam? He stepped forward to attract Blowhole's aim before the laser eye modification could fricassee his friends. He closed his own eyes so tight they hurt.

But Blowhole wasn't through taunting. "I --- how _did_ you get all this information about my scheme? No matter, it's _still_ worth it. I'll get these glitches straightened out and the blend of Lineus longissimus --- "

Kowalski opened his eyes.

" --- Plectus murrayi --- "

Kowalski blinked.

" --- and Mesenchytraeus solifugus will help me _rule the world!"_

Kowalski exploded. _"What?_ Mesenchytraeus solifugus? _That's_ your third species?"

"Boy, you're one curious penguin." Blowhole got a patronizing look that reminded Kowalski that he was indeed Doris' brother. "Yeah, poor little Mesenchytraeus solifugus melts at 41 degrees Fahrenheit and since temperatures in the Arctic are warming due to climate change with average Arctic temperatures increasing at almost twice the global average rate, these babies collapse into goo and release their antifreeze into ice of any description, you name it, glaciers, polar ice and --- "

"Ice melts all over. Yeah, I get it." Humility dripped over Kowalski's soul like a slow melt from one of the affected icebergs. It left a cold fire inside.

Skipper shifted beside Kowalski as all the pieces of Blowhole's plan now made sense. The tension in the lorry wouldn't seem to be able to rise further, but it did. Blowhole laughed as if the conflict upcoming fulfilled an urge for chaos that wouldn't be denied. "The ice worms die and you're all not around to stop me. Win-win."

The words tumbled out as if Kowalski's subdued brain channeled his Skipper. "What's the third win? These things always come in threes."

"I don't have a number three. It's just an expression."

"These things always come in threes. Try harder."

Blowhole escalated to euphoria. "Won't matter, won't matter, because I've got the upper flipper. _Told_ you!" Any trace of depression or shock vanished with another wild cackle of glee. "I've got a sasquatch on my side!"

Skipper regained his voice. "What you did to her is beneath contempt," he growled. "I don't _care_ that it was consensual." What _was_ that female up to? Now she rubbed her forehead as if Hugo were nearby.

 _"Where_ are you getting this information? Sasquatch, did you gossip in the zoo when I told you not to?"

Sasquatch floundered in her role but tried not to show it. "A girl's got to have _someone_ to chat with." She had edged farther away from her boss and rested an arm on the nearest console to go for the casual look. The plasma cutter atop it was within inches of her undamaged hand. From inside the artic's trailer she had seen the floating incandescent cutter free her at mere directing gestures from Blowhole's flipper and she wanted that cutter _bad_. She cringed as if the entire situation overwhelmed her. Her fingers walked a step nearer.

Skipper burst out with a reasonable conclusion to take the brunt of the nutjob's attention. "And you'll use a homeschooled Viking army to further your future schemes! That's criminal on a whole other level, even for you."

"Crawling crabcakes! _What?"_

 _"Aren't_ you?"

"No. That's just crazy."

"Oh."

"The sasquatch assassin and nematode nemeses are wild ideas enough. What were _you_ thinking?"

"Um. Nothing."

The following cackle at Skipper's expense was superceded by a dire prediction. ''You can't die fast enough. Sasquatch, do your Перевал Дятлова thing like we talked about in Nepal, remember?" Blowhole scooted near the console in front of the tank to let the melée begin.

The last few minutes had been quite measured for a confrontation, so it took the youngest member of the team to introduce what the young do best: surprise the hell out of their elders.

"Oh no you don't! Never again! _Remember_ _Kastelholm!"_ To everyone's shock, Private slid like one of Rico's torpedoes towards Sasquatch's feet. He arched his supple back upon arrival to form a U shape and as his flippers supported the capoeira stance, an upside down wink passed between penguin and sasquatch. She punted his compact muscular body as she had on an icy rooftop.

Blowhole ascended into the ionosphere of giddiness. "Keep it up, old lady! Get that pen-gu-in! Ahhahahhahahah!"

Private aileroned his flippers to guide his course towards the righthand console nearest the back doors and landed on its chair. Blue Three made a half hearted try at escape but crumpled under a lightning fast karate chop. The swivel chair spun under the impact of the landing and the protruding edge of the console smacked Private over his left earhole. He nearly collapsed but then hung his head as he supported himself with a shaky flipper.

"Private!" Skipper advanced towards Blowhole. Despite Private's absence, Kowalski and Rico slipped ahead to form an attack triangle with Skipper its rear guard. Skipper grit his beak at not being on point and wasted no more words on the arrogant dolphin.

Blue Six determined to prove his worth. "I'm on it, boss!" He shoved his chair away from the console to send it rolling in the penguins' direction, perhaps not a deadly attack but providing a stumbling block, at least. Rico snap barfed a set of rubber chocks at two of its wheels and as the chair stopped short, Blue Six obeyed the law of gravity and kept on going. He tumbled from the chair to land on his back. "Ahhhh! No fair!" His scrabbling claws entangled in the rope linking the chocks and after some imaginative curses, he lay still, gasping.

Kowalski ended Blue One's mad rush at him with a _hiiiiyahhh!_ and a sweep kick, but not before a claw sliced his thigh and drew blood. Blue One skidded directly in front of the bar to break three legs against its teakwood. He moaned and out of the corner of his eye Kowalski saw Blue Five pull him behind the bar. The scientist kept up pressure against the thigh and chanted _we heal fast we heal_ _fast_ to himself. "Keep going, Rico! Protect Skipper!"

Rico dove ahead of Skipper with a wild gabble that contained _"YuhurtVen!"_ Blue Two took a defensive stand in front of Blowhole as Rico charged him.

"Take that, you psychotic penguin!" The crab waved its blue outsized claw while the smaller one rattled a staccato like César Millan's dog training clicker. Rico made a rude sound as he somersaulted over Blue Two by a good half penguin to land precariously on Blowhole's back two feet up from his flukes. Blowhole leaned down to swat him before he remembered how segway competence requires an upright stance. The realization came too late as the segway obeyed its rider and swung to the left.

Rico whooped _Yippeekiyiyay!_ as he imitated Roscoe Jarboe's prize winning bullrider pose with one flipper waving an imaginary Stetson and the other balancing himself against the surprisingly soft hide. In less than the regulation eight seconds, he was forced into a Crouching Panda, Snide Snow Monkey dismount because the segway jolted forward to crush Blue Two into five separate pieces strung together by slime. "Sasquatch! Help!" screeched Blowhole.

This was worse than the time hunters who called themselves "harvesters" shot contraband 30.06 rounds into Sasquatch's herd. During that horrific episode, the unspoken reality of being a herd animal meant that others of her kind stood the same chance of being shot. Today, the moment Blowhole learned whose side she was really on, she formed a huge solitary target for the crabs and Blowhole himself. Her courage failed her as had Hugo's. What was she _doing_ in with this violent group? She cringed for real in the small space between the bar and the left wall. She forgot about the plasma cutter as she covered her face and whimpered.

Skipper chose Routine Sixteen: Mix 'Em Up Melée Melange as he finally, finally broke free of his mother hens in front of the bar. He chose a simple judo hip throw when Blue Five gained heart by his co-workers' bodaciousness and charged from behind the bar. As he crashed to the floor, Blue Five whimpered loud enough to drown out Skipper's own _hah_ of smothered pain at the exertion. The crab scuttled back behind the bar and when Skipper poked his head around it in pursuit, Blues Five and One screamed like little girls. The penguin team leader contented himself with making his war face. Blue Five swooned dead away on top of Blue One's broken legs to make him faint, too. A glance over their fallen bodies showed Sasquatch cowering in the corner. _Now_ what the hell was up with her? She looked like she was washing her hands of the whole plan.

Growling to himself, Skipper faced Blowhole head on.

Blowhole's subsonic squeal ripened into an audible, "Sasquatch! A little help here!" The segway's left wheel spun in what was left of Blue Two to make Blowhole's retreat as uneven as his balance. Guts spurted as the wheel _zzzzzzzzrrr_ ed on the metal floor and Blowhole slammed crookedly against his tank.

Hearing the slam, Private swiped his flipper in front of his face to clear his head. There was no _way_ Skipper's gut had been correct about today being near perfect. His eyes recorded two Skippers shimmering before two Blowholes. Private wobbled on the chair and when his movement sent it spinning in place, he lost the battle to keep his last meal. Despair at his helplessness swept over him as thoroughly as the disgusting sick cascaded over the unconscious Blue Three. He dragged himself to the edge of the chair and fell off, calling upon Routine Seventeen: Just Relax And Take It You Fool.

She could commit, or not. She could bull her way through to the back doors and trust they were only closed and not locked. More than ever, she yearned for her horns and the mass that had been carved away. After nine deep breaths, she recited her mantra and straightened her shoulders. Sasquatch headed to the fray as the mantle of shame shed like last winter's fur.

Skipper registered random assaults on his senses: the smell of Private's voided stomach contents, the sight of Blowhole's alarmed retreat, the sound of Kowalski's hitched gait as Rico supported him to back up their leader, the touch of cold steel floor beneath his recovering right pinkie claw and the taste of his own bile as his ulcers decided to act up. He drove for the win with an epiphany that had just hit him. It was perfect because it formed the third item from his previous list of two. "Blowhole, I'm betting that your consoles have a kill switch for the ice worms in case they grow beyond your control or get up close and personal with _you_. Am I right or am I right? I'm right. I knew it."

Blowhole's face said it all. "Don't you ever get tired of showing me up?" He poked his segway control panel and they all started as they looked around for whatever that activated. Rico took point as the only undamaged member of the team left and awaited orders. A new background _akakakakak_ noise added to the murmur of the tank's pump, injured crab groans and crackles from one after another of the consoles.

Skipper heard Private stagger to his side. He didn't look around at the young penguin as he drilled Blowhole with the masterful gaze at which the Rat King quailed. Skipper had his beak open to ask _is this all you've got?_ when Sasquatch drew near. "Ooops, sorry!" she said as she stumbled and ended the short minion career of Blue Six. He made no sound as her size 15EEE pulverized his exoskeleton. "I didn't mean to, boss!"

"Whatever! Just do it! The brain squashing thing!"

Private rejoined his team. "Wot's goin' on?" He sounded confused and by Ringtail's Sky Spirits, he was too groggy to remember their plan. Now Skipper did turn aside to evaluate his soldier's condition and saw Private give a dazed stink-eye to Sasquatch. His gut warned Skipper that Private was not acting. A fierce knock on the noggin had reawakened the honest hatred he had harbored for her until recently.

Blowhole's voice turned deadly. ''Sasquatch, do your thing _now."_

Kowalski let go his thigh and drew himself up. He didn't _think_ she would betray her new herd, but then she was female and he had trouble reading females. One glance to his right showed Skipper's face as calm as ever it got in battle. _He_ trusted Sasquatch and so would his lieutenant.

"I am going to murder you, penguins." Sasquatch played her part as well as Sarah Siddons would have. She loomed over four little penguins to sweep them up and tuck them under one arm although they struggled gamely or acted like it. One deft hand plucked Private from the group and her other hand made as if to wring his neck like slaughtering a chicken for Sunday family dinner. Right before her palm closed over his eyes, Private's bleary gaze sought out Skipper as the last friend he'd see before diving into the Eternally Foggy Sea. Skipper sent all his reassurances in a look even as he played his part, too.

"No! Stop! Let him go, kill me! I've lived my life!" He saw Private's beak wibble with no words forthcoming.

Blowhole chanted, " _Do_ it _do_ it _do_ it!"

Kowalski twisted himself in a different direction as if his sliced thigh grated against Sasquatch's brawny forearm. It did, but that didn't matter at the moment. "You butcher! Everyone, _close your eyes!_ " On the last three words, Kowalski's voice got as high-pitched as any of them had ever heard it as the glass console screen still monitored by a frozen in place Blue Four shattered into micro shards. The crab thrust himself back from his workstation. His rolling lumbar chair banged against Blowhole's segway and the dolphin tottered off balance to flop like a flounder on the floor. He raised a flipper to his laser eye. The penguins heard a snap followed by a rising hum familiar to all fans of Commodore Danger films when the Ultimate Weapon prepared to discharge.

Skipper tossed out a command that he was sure Blowhole couldn't understand. "Rico! Thirty degrees larboard!"

" _Aaaaaaaaa!"_ Rico snapped his head upwards as his auto-barf grappling hook snagged the plasma cutter from the top of a console. This was Rico's favorite auto-barf grappling hook and as it reeled itself back, he wrested a flipper from Sasquatch's deceptively loose grip to aim a well-placed karate chop that turned the plasma cutter on. Kowalski took over then as he gestured it to float in front of Sasquatch who was the largest spot among the many spots before his eyes. The unexpected effort took it out of him and he sagged against Rico.

" _Afraid_ of you, harami? As if!" Sasquatch laughed and they'd never heard her genuine laugh. She placed Private gently on the floor and grabbed the live plasma cutter from the air. She raised her arm to let the other penguins drop without slicing feather, flesh, foot, or beak. She angled the blade back against Blowhole. Red laser met plasma blade. Blowhole's red eye laser blast zinged and zanged as it ricocheted from the green plasma around the interior of the lorry, finally shattering the sea water tank and dissipating in an explosive _hisssss_. The plasma cutter gave up its green ghost in a glow that highlighted Sasquatch's wide brown eyes. She dropped it with a "Harreram!"

"You --- traitor! Unnatural! _Gargoyle!"_ Blowhole galumphed like an ungainly caterpillar towards Sasquatch until lifted by his aquarium tank's outpouring.

A salty suffocating wave surged to the lorry's door and then back, leaking through electronic consoles as it drowned the last hope for the entire linked control boards. The penguins surfed the sloshing waves until they reached Sasquatch who had planted her big feet against the floor. The water reached mid thigh on her as she stuck out her arms to balance in the deluge. After they made their way up her body, Kowalski loosened one flipper from her fur to brush water off Skipper's chest frantically and then stopped at a look from his commander saying that he would not get sick from the soaking because he _couldn't._ They struggled up to her shoulders, Rico and Kowalski on the left and Skipper and Private on the right. Shades of Manfredi and Johnson's killer tsunami, this had been a close one.

The team squinted to find where Blowhole had beached until the emergency lighting sizzled to nothing. In the murk, they heard Blowhole's "Until next time!"

"After him, boys! And lady!"

A dolphin-sized trapdoor opened under their aquatic adversary and the water followed the laws of fluid dynamics as it swooshed away and down. The four penguins and Sasquatch hurried to the opening in time to see Blowhole seal himself inside an escape ruse shaped especially for him. From its bay suspended underneath the lorry, a torpedo-like vehicle shot forward as its fairing scraped the undercarriage. Blowhole got away in a backfiring belch of internal combustion fumes. The last they saw of him was his bottlenose pointed defiantly forward as his flippers maneuvered a control yoke that looked like an airplane's. Blue Five and Blue Four dragged Blue One between them through the opening and disappeared to everyone's disinterest.

Kowalski said what didn't actually need to be said. "A customized Messerschmitt KR 201 roadster. It can do sixty miles per hour. Blowhole's on the loose again."

Skipper panted and sat on the abandoned segway's tire. "We stopped him from drowning the world. That's as good as it gets." He brushed off Private's attempts to preen the damp from his bald spot. "Leave it." Private seemed not to know what to do with himself until Rico lifted Kowalski's flipper with his and nodded at Skipper. Skipper placed his flipper atop Kowalski's and nodded at Private. Private acted more like himself as he slipped his flipper atop the penguin pile of appendages.

"Yayyyyy!"

"We did it. By Light-Horse Harry Lee, we did it."

"Sir, your gut was right."

"Ahgrommmtz _team!"_

Sasquatch slogged through mushy piles of wiring that resembled intestines as she macerated already crushed crabs whose guts spurted from between her toes. She had a look of despair despite their triumph. "I'm stuck in this body. I --- I gave up everything to defeat him." She sat on the pommel of the segway as her weight lifted Skipper's seat until his legs left the floor. He swung his feet thoughtfully.

 _"Stuck in this body?"_ Kowalski, Rico and Private chorused.

''No one else promised me what he did. No one else could have changed me. No one else can change me back."

Skipper turned hopeful eyes to his Science Guy. Kowalski shook his head. "I don't dare try. I'm not as smart as Blowhole or Dave." It was a bald statement and must have cost Kowalski a great deal.

Blue Three moaned from a soggy mess of apples, lichen, broken champagne flutes and fescue. He rubbed his eyestalks like a sleepy hatchling. "What did I miss?"

IOIOIOIOIO

TBConcluded


	51. Chapter 51

"Time, Kowalski."

Kowalski squinted at the sun's angle. "Eight twenty-five and three seconds."

"Far under our takedown calculations of three point nine seven hours." Skipper always loved posing the next question. "What went right?"

"You're asking _me?"_

"Options, man, with as little commentary as is possible. Compare this encounter with the last, double time."

Kowalski sat beside his commander on a log in a grove of linden trees out of sight of traffic on Road 1. It was just past its meager rush hour as he rested his head on his flipper in an unconscious tableau of _The Thinker._ "One: Blowhole operated on a smaller scale than Project Bad Tidings and we didn't contend with a larger base containing more minions." He closed his eyes for a moment at the thought of Parker's presumed intimacy with Doris before he had reunited unsatisfyingly with her. "Er, yes. Onward. Two: Lack of accomplices for us to battle, because we never learned who Agent Twelve is and Parker remains in Cuba."

Skipper nodded. Kowalski would come up with a third thing later. "Him, we don't need." He kneaded his lieutenant's shoulder. "How's the leg?"

"It burns worse than the cuts to the shins last week, but no tendons or muscles damaged. I just feel woozy from blood loss." Kowalski leaned into the touch. "We'll depend on Rico to get us airborne to the milk truck's roof, I think. There's small risk of notice because rural Road 1 is more deserted than Mariehamn proper and Our Man From **K.A.B.O.O.M**. is as precise with explosive tangents as any penguin could be."

"Sounds like a plan." Skipper bent over the injury. "The sea water washed the blood stains from your feathers but damn, the salt must have stung." Skipper gave a pat to the shoulder and then removed his flipper. No use coddling anyone, was his motto.

"It hurt like when I absentmindedly took a big bite of Rico's five alarm chili as I was thinking of ununoctium's acceptance as a noble gas for the element table." An unwelcome option had to be said. "If our keepers see me limping, they might take me to the infirmary."

"Will there be needles?"

"Maybe." Skipper sucked in a breath and then let it out slowly.

"Would that be such a bad thing? For you, I mean."

"I'll admit to not liking shots, but I don't get all --- um --- "

"Paranoid, like I got with the Viking homeschooling?"

Kowalski ducked his head. "I wasn't going to say anything because each of us, at one time or another --- "

"It all comes out in the wash, mi terroncito de azúcar." Kowalski had made certain that Skipper sat in a ray of morning sun that filtered through the unleafed trees. The glossy coat shone dry by this time. The fresh patches of growing feathers gave Skipper a youthful look, not that Kowalski would mention that, either.

The commander and his second watched Private and Rico pantomime the capoeira maneuver that might, or might not, become part of the team's repertoire. Sasquatch approached, carrying a segment of console siding under one arm and trundling the segway.

"This right for size?"

"It'll do for a penguin orbital platform, Sasquatch. Thanks." She stood the segment up against a sapling and sat in the watermelon snow drifted by the log.

"I'm off for Nepal soon."

"The road trip won't be what you thought it would be." Skipper was matter of fact. "Did Hugo send a farewell while you were in the lorry? I saw you rub your forehead."

She crossed her legs at the ankles and leaned back while bracing her elbows on the log's rondeur. "No. He's too far away. That was your calf, I mean the littlest one."

 _"What?_ Mammal to bird telepathy and vice versa is just nuts!" Kowalski looked floored but Skipper held his tongue. Weird was the name of the game when it came to telepathy.

Sasquatch pursed her lips. "It wasn't like with Hugo. There was less detail and I couldn't hear his words. I only got a glimpse of what he planned and then when he said _Kastelholm_ and made himself such a perfect target, I kicked him." She looked up at the tree branch drooping above their heads that had weeks to go before budding out. "I'm sorry for that and for what I put you all through."

It took some time for Skipper to come up with a reply but the sight of Kowalski's temper starting to boil brought out the right words. "It's in the past." He breathed deeply of the scent of the sea in the fjord north of their position. He pictured Ted's arrival there as a young polar bear while admiring the species' long range swimming ability and if Skipper drifted a little in concentration, nobody could blame him.

Sasquatch took in Skipper's simple statement. "My kind will die in the wild along with the saola and the Sumatran orangutan." She sighted where the moon was last in the sky. "But until then, we live."

Kowalski subsided with a mutter that Skipper was certain he didn't want his commander to hear clearly. The team leader focused once more on the aftermath of their mission. "Kowalski, we know that Road 1 is the primary road for this island --- "

"Fasta Island, the island in the Ålands with the most humans."

"Er, right. Can you calculate how many deliveries the milk truck will make and when it will swing this way again?"

Kowalski knew a peacemaker's diversion from a quarrel when he heard it. The answer was something he'd been working on since Blue Three had cowered before everyone and Skipper had made a disgusted gesture that said _go away boy you bother me_ as plain as day. "Fasta covers 390 square miles with a population 90 per cent of the Ålands total and averages 47 humans per square mile so therefore" --- he rubbed his beak --- "given his speed we observed and the dimensions of his truck while hazarding a guess at its tare" --- he folded his flippers --- "I calculate in forty-five minutes and thirty-four seconds, give or take."

"Give or take. Uh _huh._ " Private and Rico finished and came at Skipper's call. "Rico, check on the driver of the artic. Private, I want a word with you." Rico sped off across the road.

"Blowhole left a crack in the window after he gassed him so the human could get fresh air. I guess that was when the harami still thought he should do good deeds to meet you in the Pure Land." Sasquatch fiddled with her neck. "Eh, a little whiplash from the artic's sudden stop. I'd better walk around to loosen it up before attempting the segway. I've gotten through the action part and now I just want to go home." She headed deeper into the grove. The penguins refrained from pointing out that the watermelon snow had stained her bottom a dusky pink.

Kowalski made to move away. "No, rest your leg. This won't take a minute. Private, you broke formation _and_ communicated an unproven tactic in a highly unorthodox manner."

"Aye. Prepared for disciplinary slap, Skippa."

Skipper slapped him at less than half strength. "Just because it turned out all right does _not_ mean that it was okay to do that."

Private kept his chin up. "Aye."

"Keep Kowalski company while I get something from the lorry." Skipper waddled to the lorry and back faster than he would have one week ago. He waggled a greenish travel size bottle in a most pleasing shape.

"Gammel Dansk! Blowhole lives right." At Skipper's look, Kowalski added, "But he's in the wrong about everything else."

Skipper smiled. "A toast to a successful mission, just a lil sippy. Private, how's your head?"

"Aw, er, uh --- it's, it's okay --- just a headache left, I don't see two of anythin' now and I don't hate her any more --- " He looked not as eager as Skipper would have thought at the prospect of taking this rite of passage.

Kowalski sighed. "Private, you and I must not partake. You don't need to complicate a head injury and I don't want to get woozier when we need all our coordination to stay on top of the Slip'N Slide roof of the milk truck. Skipper, limit yourself to half a sip and you'll be fine."

"Next time, Private, I'll get you a drink and you'll see what all the fuss is about. For right now, go keep lookout and think about how you are the team's resident capoeira expert."

Private moved some yards away to await their departure at his post behind the tree trunk nearest the road. His _skrawk_ synchronized with one coming from eight trees down the grove and thirty feet up from the same kind of bird in the Kastelholm clearing.

"Rico sent up a flare from across the highway! Wot is he _thinkin'!"_

 _"Von Hindenburg's mistake, Rico!"_ Skipper hustled to Private's side with Kowalski limping behind him. Sasquatch returned from her walk and stepped behind a neighboring linden, rolling her shoulders.

"Does this happen often?" she asked. She peered across the roadway. "Hugo?" She rubbed her forehead. "Hugo!"

A russet shape knuckle walked sedately across Road 1 with a black and white escort. Rico reported to Skipper as the two friends grasped each other's hands. "Ooman 'kay." He demonstrated with a monstrous snore. Skipper got it out of him that Hugo had startled him into an involuntary upchuck. He held off on the slap due to extenuating circumstances. There hadn't been a vehicle pass in the last fifteen minutes, anyway.

"I changed my mind, is that allowed, ayam?" Hugo backed off from the handclasp. "It happened right after you left and I looked into my future at the zoo as a big black hole. I escaped the primate house as soon as they put me back in there and reached Imelda's habitat. She sneaked with me to the shore and then she swam me on her back. She said it was good exercise to lose weight and that she'd been practicing with Marcus." He looked proud of himself. "I paid strict attention to your briefing, penguin. She swam up to"--- he recited carefully --- "Möckelö area near Bursfjården and we found Möckelövågen Road together." He pointed where the smaller road crossed the larger Road 1. "It ends at the fjord about one mile north. I waited in the woods until all looked clear here. I _nearly_ got the courage to climb a tree." He seemed finished and then thought of one more thing. "I _knew_ you would win the battle."

Skipper refused to voice his doubts at the statement and accepted the sentiment at face value. "Good old Imelda. And we're happy to serve, Hugo."

Kowalski looked around. "Imelda! Where is she?"

The scientist sagged at the answer. "It took two hours to swim here because we needed to bear south around the peninsula and then north. Imelda said she had to get back to Marcus and the zoo before visiting hours." Hugo paused. "The open ocean is" --- he shivered --- "cold and dangerous. The same walrus that threatened me to keep away from Sasquatch bullied us at the mouth of the fjord."

"Harreram! What happened, Hugo? A walrus working for Blowhole and disguised as human entered the zoo to intimidate him," Sasquatch explained to the commandos' questioning looks.

Hugo's incisors gleamed in the sun. "Let's just say Imelda 1, Walrus 0."

"Outstanding! You rock, aquatic ursine!" Skipper observed the two friends hanging back to talk things over. "We'll just leave you two to hang back and talk things over. Rico, this is our orbital platform for four penguins' load plus drag and we'll depend on you to supply lift plus thrust to gain the milk truck's roof." Rico saluted and turned to check the console siding's dimensions with Private as helper. "Kowalski, you and I have something to discuss."

Kowalski limped listlessly back to the log with his commander. "Imelda could have transported us back, no problem. We wouldn't need to blast ourselves skyward. We wouldn't need to slither on top of a milk truck driven by a maniac."

"Plotz." Kowalski plotzed.

"Think of a third thing."

"Sir?"

"Think of a third thing that went right." At the look of confusion, Skipper went on, "Like this: _uno_ , we're not pushed for time to get back to the zoo, _dos_ , none of us got injured more than is reasonably expected, and _tres_ , Blowhole got plugged in fewer hours than you calculated averaging our other battles against that nutjob. Go for it, I dare you." He crossed his flippers over his bald spot.

The flock of small birds twittered as they returned from across Road 1 to forage in the spare branches overhead. The sun felt nice on his leg. Kowalski thought hard. "Three is that Sasquatch joined us."

"Agreed. She could have been stubborn or let the moon cat out of the bag about me being alive." Skipper settled himself comfortably and continued. "Say, Kowalski, tell me more about Lineus longissimus, Plectus murrayi and Mesenchytraeus solifugus."

Kowalski's jaw dropped and Skipper laughed. "I'm actually interested, Science Guy."

"They --- you --- me --- he --- messy ---"

"Come on, a brief briefing, if you please. We have some time to pass. Enlighten me."

Kowalski noticed how his commander's eyes remained steadily on him. There was no way to tell if the penguin would look right or left to indicate a lie short of a staring contest and it didn't really matter, anyway. He accepted the command tactic for what it was, swallowed his pride and launched into a lecture portraying how _he_ would have matched DNAs of three useful species for an undetermined reason. Ten minutes later, Skipper called a halt.

"I'd like to hear more about this, so let's table the discussion until our trip back to New York City. Rico, how's it going?"

Rico and Private finished duct taping the charges to the underside of the thick plastic siding. " **Kaboom** seefour'kay. 'Rivate _lift_ nao." The two hefted the siding to the verge under the shadow of an evergreen tree. It was unlikely the sparse traffic would notice the gray piece of plastic and as Private placed rocks underneath it to provide the correct azimuth, Rico finetuned the angle for an eastbound truck of known height and speed. At last they stepped back. "'Kippaaaah, reddy."

"Good work. Come here and we'll celebrate." Skipper waved the bottle over his head to signal Sasquatch and Hugo. They walked easily together, Skipper noticed, as similar in appearance as Maurice and Ringtail with the same height differential. "Chug a lug, Sasquatch?"

"Why?"

"To celebrate the mission's completion."

Rico took the opportunity to take the bottle from Skipper as he mimed opening it with his beak. He passed the bottle to her with a gleam in his eye to see the feat once more. She stretched her hand out for it but Hugo snatched the bottle and jimmied the cap. "This will be my first drink! Santi, everyone!" He tipped the bottle skyward.

"Take it easy! Hit him on the back, lady!"

"Calf steps, my friend, calf steps. There. All right now?" She took the bottle when Hugo recovered before returning it to Skipper. She rubbed Hugo's neck soothingly.

"Ack! Kaff! Kaff! Ah-ah-ah- _choozowizzle!_   Why --- does --- _anyone_ \--- do this?" Hugo regained his breath.

Sasquatch and Skipper pulled the same face. "It's like losing your virginity, simian. You don't understand until it's all over and starts to feel good. Give it a minute." Skipper passed the Gammel Dansk to Sasquatch after wetting his whistle. She savored the heft of the bottle as she swished the contents around.

"Looks smooth."

"The Danes manage to get a _few_ things right." Skipper indicated Rico and she handed the drink to him, watching as he closed his eyes in rapture for his portion and licked his scar afterwards. Rico pressed both flippers to the bottle to pass it back to Sasquatch.

She took it, hesitated and then said, "No. Thank you."

Hugo looked mellow. "I understand, ayam. You do as you see fit." He sat suddenly with arms splayed to each side. "Tai, that's an effect as good as a durian at its peak of ripeness and aroma." He burped. "Maaf."

Sasquatch handed the bottle to Private. "Take it. I'll pass."

Private started to pipe up a _why_ but Skipper spoke his mind first. "Nothing matters but the mission, which was successful. This _is_ a nearly perfect day for me, so От всей души поздравляю, Снегурочка." The challenge was in the tone of voice and Sasquatch met it.

"You're congratulating me when _my_ mission to save my kind failed. On top of that, you're calling me a _maiden?_ Explain yourself, soldier." She crossed her arms.

A titter burst from Private at the role reversal before Kowalski and Rico both cuffed him. He mouthed an _ow!_ as Skipper formed a reply. " _The team's_ mission succeeded, Sasquatch, and I'm including you in the team. The world is free of giant ice-melting venomous slimy _worms_ that _were_ responsible for serious injuries and _might_ have killed a fisherwoman, you're on your way home with a friend and we're on our way home, too, in" --- he gestured to Kowalski, who held both flippers straight up --- "eleven minutes. _The team's_ mission was worthy of effort and your motives were pure enough for yours. As for the means you chose, you'll have plenty of time to think things through on your road trip. Who knows what will happen next?"

Private offered the bottle and she took it after a moment. "To the future of my kind," she said, and sipped. "That's all, I'm driving." She nestled the bottle in the watermelon snow next to the log. "But ... a _maiden?"_

"And why not? Blowhole took away everything that made you _not_ a maiden, right?"

"He did."

"So you get a fresh start in life, right, new form, new friend, traveling the world like you never did before, right?"

"I suppose so."

"Done in one: you're a maiden again."

"Fake it until you make it, is that the idea?"

"You got it, sister. Consider this your 'special briefing.'"

"Oh you're too much." She smiled without showing her teeth and then shrugged before she picked up Hugo by his pits to set him on his feet. He blinked and became more alert as she knelt and gestured to her back. He smiled broadly as he clambered aboard.

Four little penguins waddled next to her while she positioned the segway heading east to Finland. Rico kept lookout as she aped Blowhole's stance and motions to direct the vehicle. After a trial run of ten feet, she turned around to bid them farewell. "I'm nearly done on earth but you're not, bull. You've got miles to swim before you sleep." She nodded at Private who had wound up staunchly at his commander's side. "And much to enjoy. Goodbye, Skipper, Kowalski, Private and Rico." It was the first time she revealed that she knew the names of the entire squad. She tootled off down the road on the segway with Hugo clinging to her back as he had to his mother in decades gone by.

"But how will you get off this island? You don't like getting wet!" Skipper wasn't sure that they could hear him.

"We'll figure something out," Hugo hollered back. He unlatched one hand to wave. "Farewell, penguins of Åland."

IOIOIOIOIO

Rico launched his team onto the top of the milk truck flawlessly. In midair as the world spun and roared, sitting toe to toe with Kowalski, Rico, and Private, Skipper decided that his team was perfect just as it was, the loss of Manfredi and Johnson notwithstanding.

He would never see Manfredi and Johnson again this side of the Endless Iceberg. That was acceptable.

As the truck bumped over a pothole, the noise disguised the _clank_ of a horseshoe magnet deploying and the _shhhhzzzirrrr_ of the unneeded console siding kiting off the roof. The driver must have wanted to _move it move it_ to get on with the rest of his workday at the milk distribution plant because he sang no more.

Rico and Private anchored Skipper and Kowalski to the roof and since the sunshine had banished the frost, the ride was nearly pleasant enough for two penguins at less than their best to nod off in exhaustion. Each could nap in the knowledge that the peace of Åland was secured by their efforts.

Kowalski roused when the turnoff for Mariehamn approached. He got a little rambly, which his friends attributed to his state of pain or _discomfort_ as the Doc in Central Park Zoo termed it.

"If we continued east to Lumparn Bay, we could see where a meteorite struck our earth one billion years ago to make a crater six miles wide. The bedrock in the area is a rapakivi granite isn't that an unusual name you know rapakivi has a high uranium content of 24 parts per million and if one of Blowhole's worms died near it the potential for the worm reviving into an even larger zombie worm is off the charts --- "

Skipper rolled his head to spy Kowalski staring blankly at the sky as he calculated the odds. "Let's get you home to rest, compadre. You can rapakivi us another time."

In the end the ride simply wasn't long enough to snooze and by the time Mariehamn's charming skyline came into view, everyone was lulled into a mild fatigue. As the ancient church that Skipper had mentally GPSed appeared, he nearly didn't recognize it.

"There's the church! But it's been worked on since last night, er this morning, oh you know what I mean. The cross is back up." Whether it was removed for repair or regilding, it felt right to see it in place as they dropped off the milk truck uneventfully.

From the church to the zoo was the span of one half hour's clandestine slogging from one hiding place to the other on the quiet streets. Before they knew it, they waddled past the polar bear habitat and waved to Marcus. "She'll be back any minute now!" they chorused and Marcus waved in return. Skipper's and Kowalski's boost over the penguin habitat fencing marked a small respite before the beginning of another day entertaining guests by simply being themselves. Nobody was up to much except laying out as they all succumbed to slumber.

Imelda greeted them through the stone habitat barrier at noon feeding time.

"GUYTH? Got back in the NICK!"

"We're here, IMELDA! How's by YOU?" Kowalski had perked up since explaining worm DNA to Skipper and expounding on a meteor crater. He chatted with gusto as he regaled her with the news she could use. Congratulations on their victories were exchanged and this time, Marcus joined in with awed questions. Kowalski used up his energy and had to beg off answering after fifteen minutes. "Laters, MARCUS! Keep it REAL, Imelda!"

"Right ON, bird!"

IOIOIOIOIO

"Why does she talk like that, anyway? It's contagious," Skipper mused at telly time that Private insisted on. The penguins had stayed up late to catch the Rangers score and sure enough, the point spread was one. The Rangers 2, Ducks 1 score eased them into complacency as their nerves reknitted after a harrowing sixteen days that was _planned_ to be relaxing.

Flipping through the channels, a chance news report in Swedish showed footage of the ripped open artic and destroyed Nikola One lorry. They caught the word 'delfin' as the driver of the artic gave his story. By the joshing look on the anchorwoman's face, it was obvious that the man's report about a dolphin riding a segway and hurling knockout bombs had no chance of being believed.

Kowalski shook his head as he leaned against Rico, who had stuck a partway inflated Faux Skipper under his friend's leg to elevate it. "Linguistics isn't my field, sir, but I could devise some tests --- "

"Nah, I don't care _that_ much. Just chalk it up to velleity."

"I, I didn't know that word was in your vocabulary, Skipper."

"Yeah, I've stuck in 'cutlets,' too. It's about time." Skipper left the reasons for the additions a mystery as he went on, "This team needs to chill until we leave next week, you know, watch some hockey games, play Marco Polo, meet Bruce The Moose, things like that. I hear Bruce is Russian and I can brush up on my Russian with him."

"Sir, you shouldn't swim just yet."

"All right then, I'll play Double Norwegian Slap 'Em and Grab 'Em Poker in place of Marco Polo."

"Skippa, I want my Omega Boom Boom maneuver considered for official status. If I practice it hard in the next few days, will you accept it before we get back to New York?"

Oh gads, the look of enthusiasm snagged Skipper's heart like a trebel barb hook snags a king salmon. He hated to crush it. The move required a kick rather than a launching. He'd need to feel more confident about no penguin misjudging the force of a kick. He'd need to contrast a launch with the force applied to the shoulder or pelvic girdle with the Omega Boom Boom's kick, which targeted the less sturdy vertebrae. He'd need to push aside the vision of himself or another team member kicking too hard to cripple or kill.

Skipper's mind drummed with one thought:  _protectprotectprotect._ "Private, stay away from full on practice. That's an order. Iron-clad." Private drooped until his commander added, "Let's wait until New York City. I'll tell you my decision then."

Private's expression edged towards hope as Skipper added the decision to the ones he'd make in the course of the next week. There was the raid on Doc's office to get him anti-scarring treatment, for instance. For now, he yawned and looked pointedly at his team.

"Lights out. Rico, your 'special briefing' is tomorrow first thing."

"Zay _whut?"_

"The others got one while we're on Åland, so why shouldn't you? Any requests as to the subject?"

There was no hesitation. "Xochi."

Kowalski slung a flipper around Rico's neck as Private looked solemn with an "Aww."

"Guatemala was a long time ago, soldier, are you sure? She left behind a sweet legacy of courage for us all. I thought you'd want to gab about how we can celebrate St. Patrick's Day."

"Nope. Xochi."

They turned in after Skipper doused the Vasarely Vision. The peace lasted ninety minutes.

IOIOIOIOIO

"Private!"

"Mrrrf, wot is it?"

_"Private!"_

"Here we go again. Wake up, Skippa."

_"Ministrations! Shuddering to completion!"_

"Now that's just disturbin'. I'll kick your tailfeathers, shall I?"

"Hey, stop! Ow!"

"Sorry. Nightmare again, Skippa. You do seem to have more than your share."

"Atlantis' tentacles! Darla and Carol and Jillian and you swung on lianas from the clock tower to escape Savio only Savio was a zombie mutant worm instead of a boa. I couldn't beat him just like I can't beat him in real life. He kept stabbing me with his needle sharp tongue. It was awful."

"I should say so."

"Before that, he made us play the Telephone Game. I started out whispering 'Private's first prize fish is a trevally'. You don't want to know what Carol thought I said in the end. I was shocked."

"All righty roo, back to a sweeter dreamland it is for you, then. Nighty night."

"Aw, I can't sleep _now."_

"Peaceful thoughts, sir, peaceful thoughts."

"Oh. Sorry to wake you two."

"'Kipppaaaaah, _lizeout."_

"Aye aye, _sir."_

Rico was quieter than normal for the next two days after his 'special briefing.'

IOIOIOIOIO

Kowalski's lay out spot on the last full day at Åland Zoo was cheerful and sunlit as befitted the day before the beginning of spring. Kowalski was not, although this had been the first swim he'd taken since Blue One had clawed him. He chose a song with a wistful chorus as the slanting sun felt amazing on his thigh. Skipper, Rico and Private had entertained the Saturday crowds to cover for him and now the gates had just closed. After a minute of _blue eyes cryin' in the rain,_ he had to break off.

"Doris, Doris! Why do you haunt me? Why can't I forget we ever happened --- no. Never that. Even if I knew beforehand that you were Blowhole's sister and might have shown criminal tendencies if we hooked up for good, I'd still have fallen for you like a truckload of #5 cans of sardines --- ack. I don't know what I want anymore. Curse you --- no, dammit, _damn_ you, Doris." A human listener would have heard forlorn braying and not put a finger on why it produced melancholy. It seemed that another song fit his current mood better than any other. He coughed and massaged his throat before beginning. "This is the last song I ever sing about you, Doris, I swear. Really. I mean it this time, see if I don't. Really."

He honed his considerable mental discipline to blot out the sound of the gurgling drainage grate and began again.

_"... so don't let them begin the beguine_

_let the love that was once a fire_

_remain an ember_

_let it sleep like the dead desire I only remember ... "_

Kowalski sang his heart out and decided he didn't want it to return. He trailed off. "I can't finish that one because it has too much hope in it. This one suits us better." He concentrated harder to mask the drainage grate plus some happy sounds from Skipper as Private made him unwind doing something or other adorable in the lie out spot towards the front fence.

_"Don't you know I can't take it,_

_I don't know who can,_

_I'm not gonna ma-a-a-a-a-ake it,_

_hmmm hmm drat hmmm some-thii-ii-ii-ing._

_Don't you know I can't sleep at night,_

_but just the same,_

_I never weep at night,_

_I call your name ... "_

"Ko-wal-ski." Through the fronds of the Calluna vulgaris and brushing his ragged crest against the Viscum album stepped Rico, holding out a drawing on an Etch-A-Sketch.

Two penguins kissed there, one to match each of them in crude outline. In his other flipper he held Skipper's tape recorder and fumbled with it before thinking to arrow his tongue at the 'pause' button.' The unmistakable voice of Hank Williams sang a poignant verse from _Cold, Cold Heart._

_" ... another heart before my time made your heart sad and blue,_

_and so my heart is paying now for things I didn't do ... "_

Kowalski took the recorder from Rico and turned it off. "Rico, you mean well, but the scientific reality of you and me is that ... that ... " When Kowalski shook his head, Rico lifted the Etch-A-Sketch high to rattle it and erase the images, then stopped. He passed it to Kowalski.

"You mean _I'm_ the one who has to erase it? You're putting this on _me?"_ Kowalski took the Etch-A-Sketch and turned it upside down resolutely. Then he turned it right side up, considered the drawing crafted with love and couldn't shake it to erase the two figures. "You think we have a chance?"

The Etch-A-Sketch and tape recorder went flying as Rico tackled Kowalski, and Kowalski tumbled them over and over through the melting watermelon snow. Soon it turned to a delightful mush of pink and red and although they didn't look beyond each other in the moment, their scuffles made a heart shape with lacy edges.

"You fool," Kowalski said tenderly. "You fool."

It was the same old recon waddle that evening with no obvious changes to the team. When they stayed up late to catch the hockey scores and discovered that the Rangers lost to the Sharks 4-1, it didn't seem to matter to either Kowalski or Rico.

IOIOIOIOIO

Two days later, Skipper echoed his squad's exclamations of relief after their return to HQ following Doc's cursory exam for serious problems. The Doc's _hmmm_ followed his gentle hands feeling Skipper's chest but he allowed the commander to remain with his team. "I'm glad we're all back in New York City, where everyone's safe and it's peaceful."

A police siren screamed at the same time that a boombox accompanied the _thump thump thump_ of exuberant lemur feet.

"You know what I mean."

IOIOIOIOIO

IOIOIOIOIO

Six miles west as the dirty birdie flies, Frances Alberta flicked her cigarette into the gutter by a weed-strewn empty lot. She rubbed the back of her hand. The tattoo of a vintage Kirby vacuum cleaner looked new and still sore. Two steps away, her ally did that handwringing thing that annoyed her and soon she wouldn't need him, thank kaiju. He hummed under his breath all the time, too.

"Get busy on that right away, Moley."

The tunneler blew her a kiss as he lumbered into his mecha that was parked next to a two foot tall Malva neglecta. The hatch irised closed, the ruler of the Mole Men set the angle of declension and soon dirt clods spewed behind the rusty vehicle.

Frances' stilettos tapped an ambitious rhythm on the rain slicked sidewalk, percussing a music all their own as she made her way back to her boarding house.

IOIOIOIOIO

The End.

IOIOIOIOIO

A/N Thanks to the readers and reviewers. It's been a grand eight months from January to August 2016.

YouTube's Lana Del Rey's "Dark Paradise" provides an excellent Dorski theme and the following link to vimeo shows a fanvid with the appeal of athleticism and ever rolling waves ...  
  
<https://vimeo.com/77147732>

The folks at deviantArt and furaffinity provide art that sparks the fandom.

Setting from the most unusual place a view came from on the fanfictionDOTnet site to one of my stories: the Ålands. Congratulations, you beat out Qatar, Singapore, Andorra, Isle of Man, and Mauritius. Salut! Skol!

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